


Irretitus

by batsojopo



Category: Angels & Demons (2009), NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-22 12:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsojopo/pseuds/batsojopo
Summary: AU based on the movie Angels & Demons.  What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn't the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this back in late summer of 2009 over at ff.net. Several years later I removed it for personal reasons. About a month ago I thought about it once again and decided to repost the story after some major re-writing.

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 1  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 1** _

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna sat on a bed in one of the emergency rooms of Santa Maria Ospedale. His whole body hurt. The events from the last few hours were things he never wanted to remember. Yet in his mind ’s eye he kept reliving his branding, along with the priest behind it and then that frantic helicopter ride.

Time slowed down as he reached for the parachute, which should not have been there, and buckled it into place.

_Father, into Your hands I commit my life._

If God was calling him home at this time, then he would come with open arms and an open heart.

Opening the helicopter door, he was blasted with the wind, and the deafening roar the helicopter blades created. For a moment he swore he was back in the military and practicing his jumps. Looking down he was confused at why he was in black and not green. Shoving the thought to the side, he pushed away and down from the dangerous blades, then when far enough away he pulled the cord that opened the shoot. He was jerked up and then his descent slowed. The last thing he remembered seeing was St. Peter ’s Square below him like a beacon before the bomb exploded.

Patrick shook his head and blinked his eyes. He was alone once more, sitting on a hospital bed. He could feel every ache and pain his previous actions created, and maybe even more. There was a vague memory of him hitting the dome on the way down, but the more he tried to remember, the faster the memories were chased away.

Voices from the hallway sent his mind back to the helicopter …. “Please,” he muttered as he rubbed his now closed eyes with the heel of his palms. “Lord, make it stop.”  _ Father, into _ _ …. _ Only when he reached the point where he blacked out did he find himself back in the hospital.

“Father?”

Patrick looked up only to find a nurse standing before him, obviously worried.

“Are you all right?”

Patrick entered the bedroom just as he heard his father ’s week slurring,  _ “Cardinal Strauss. Wilhelm….” _ He had heard that something was wrong with the Pontiff, but never expected this. Instead of coming near the bed, he remained next to the door.

“ _In pectore…Pat….”_ Celestine coughed, a wet rasping sound that also rattled.

The Cardinal looked around and laid his eyes on Patrick for a long time, then his eyes swung back to the dying Pontiff.  _ “Yes, Father?” _

“ _Make it official.”_

“ _Yes, Your Holiness.”_

In a small section at the bottom of the daily published reports, the Cardinal did what was asked of him, and a short time later the Pontiff died.

Patrick shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut.  “I’m okay.”

“Father, we were informed that you received a burn.” The nurse looked at him expectantly.

_The keys. Illuminati_ _…._ “No.” Patrick shook his head, hoping the images that kept rearing their ugly heads would subside for now. He also resisted the urged not to rub a hand over area where the brand had touched his chest.

“No?”

Patrick nodded.  “No.” He did not want anyone to look at the upside down keys. Plus he didn’t want anyone to know how he received the burn, or what it looked like. No one would believe him, and there would be no way to answer any of those questions and be believed at the same time. He might be the el Camerlengo, but he was still just a priest—

Patrick found himself back in the papal apartments. Several Cardinals stood around the bed. By Strauss ’ look alone, he knew something was different. When it was over, he forced himself to think of happier times with people he cared for…and loved….

When the nurse realized she wasn ’t going to get anything else out of him about the burn she called for the orderlies to help him into a wheelchair. Because he was knocked unconscious, they wanted to hold him overnight for observation. Patrick didn’t mind the attention, but he still wanted privacy.

Because of the explosion, men and women were flooding into the hospitals. Somehow they found him a private room. This allowed him to change into a hospital gown in private and then slip into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Early the next morning Patrick sat on the bed, dressed once again in his torn cassock. The medical personnel were very kind in having it cleaned. He never asked for any special treatment, but as long as it was happening, he wouldn ’t complain. The door to the room opened and a member of the Swiss Guards stepped inside the room. Instead of wearing either the formal or informal ceremonial dress, he was in green fatigues. It was a testament to how worried everyone was added to their heightened state of awareness. He recognized him, but couldn’t remember his name at the moment. “Yes?”

The guard spoke in German accented Italian,  “Father, the College of Cardinals has requested your presence.”

_ Me? Why would they want to talk to me? _ He maybe the Camerlengo, but he was only a priest. Patrick knew he could only wait so long, for the Cardinals would not be pleased if he loitered.

Gently, Patrick pushed himself off the bed. His sight grew dim and he pushed out his arms to help balance himself. As soon as his eyesight cleared he slowly limped out of the room and into the corridor. The guard easily outpaced him and was soon half way to the elevators.

“I can only move so fast,” Patrick called to the retreating figure in German. With exhaustion washing over him again, he had to reach out and lean against the wall for support. What sleep he managed to get did nothing for this, all it did was stiffen his muscles. It was now even more difficult to walk.

The guard turned to look at Patrick and nodded. At hearing him patients started appearing out of their rooms, if they could stand and move. They all had smiles on their faces and reached out to touch him when he passed them by.  _ They _ _ ’re acting as if I’m the Christ. _ He wanted to turn and state that he did nothing out of the ordinary, but never did. He ignored the impulse, for the understanding that he was summoned he felt was more important.

The doors closed and he found himself once again rushing out of the Basilica and into the mass of faithful carrying his deadly load. It was night, and a helicopter sat before him.  _ I have to get there before _ _ …. _

“Father?” Patrick heard a voice as if from far away calling to him in the middle of the helicopter ride. He tried to focus on the voice and eventually the night morphed into the interior of an elevator. He found himself on the floor and the guard was standing over him, his face mixed with concern and panic.

“Sorry,” Patrick muttered. He put a hand against the back wall and tried to push himself to his feet, but his muscles screamed in protest.

“Here, let me help you, Father.” The guard reached out a hand.

For a moment Patrick looked at it, and then slowly reached out and accepted the help.  “Thank you.”

Instead of leaving the hospital by the front door, they went down to the lower garage where a car with tinted windows was waiting. Patrick hadn ’t heard if there had been a successful vote from the Conclave or not. He figured there was because of his summons, and so his role as Camerlengo would be ended and he could live out the rest of his life as a priest.

It didn ’t take all that long to get to the Vatican and soon Patrick found himself at the base of the stairs that led up to the level that held the Sistine Chapel, with trepidation. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to his destination. Only the newer buildings had elevators. And so he had to limp his way up the stairs.

The Swiss Guards on duty in their ceremonial dress stood like sentinels up the stairs and down the joining hall. Patrick knew they were watching him closely to make sure he didn ’t collapse. Exhaustion washed over him again and he had to pause to catch his breath. The guard that brought him from the hospital now stood nearby and supported him with a hand under his elbow.

“I will make it.” Patrick nodded to the guard beside him and finally stopped when he reached the top of the stairs so he could catch his breath. More guards were stationed in various places down the corridor.

Stepping through another doorway, there was two guards standing on either side of a door two thirds the way down the hall. That was his final destination. Patrick couldn ’t help but notice that the doors were still unsealed. He pushed that from his mind and addressed the guards, “Ego sum vocata ad eum stare coram Cardinalium Collegio publicatur.” 1

It felt like it was an eternity before a guard turned to the side and opened the door. The chains that he personally set in place at the beginning of the Conclave were never replaced after his grievous break of protocol when he entered unannounced the day before. Had it been only yesterday? It felt as if an eternity had passed since those horrific events with the Cardinals.

Patrick stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. Before him the chapel was sectioned off. Where he stood there were some medical personnel, who had vowed secrecy. He limped up the ramp and into the chapel proper, and where the Cardinals were waiting for him.

He stopped when he heard muttering all around him. Patrick turned to look at the men he just passed, but they weren ’t saying anything. Turning back to the Cardinals he finally noticed that, many he knew personally, were standing in different clusters in the open space. At first one, and then more began taking steps towards him. Their muttering grew louder as they neared. It took a moment before Patrick realized that they were saying a name over and over.

Patrick took an involuntary step back, not quite sure he realized what was happening until he recognized it as his.  _ No _ _ …. It’s not possible…. _ Blood drained from his face as his eyesight dimmed.  _ It cannot be _ _ …. _ The last thing he remembered was feeling his legs buckle as blackness enveloped him.

No telling how long it was before Patrick began to hear muffled voices. Those voices were replaced by the sound of a confusing cacophony surrounding him, but he clung to the voices he knew were real. The confusion evaporated when he felt something on his face along with a cool breeze.

“Easy,” a gentle voice broke through everything that was happening in his mind. Patrick tried to bat whatever it was off his face. The familiar voices were replaced by gasps as he struggled to open his eyes. If there was anything, he was relieved to see the worried faces of several Cardinals leaning over him, and not what his traitorous mind kept throwing at him.

_ What are they looking at? _ Patrick ’s confusion finally melted away when he looked down to his open cassock. The burn wasn’t swollen like yesterday, but it was an angry red and very tender. The image of the two keys was still clearly visible from his branding.

Wilhelm Cardinal Strauss helped him into a sitting position. For a moment Patrick ’s vision wavered.

_ No _ _ …. _

Someone placed the mask back over his nose and mouth. At first he tried fighting it again until he felt cool oxygen coming from the hoses that were connected with the mask. As the minutes passed, both his mind and his vision cleared.

“I’m all right,” Patrick muttered as he eventually removed the mask.

Strauss leaned back into his heels. The Cardinal ’s eyes strayed down to the burn. 

From everyone ’s actions when Patrick arrived at the chapel he knew what the Cardinal was going to say. It was something he was not looking forward to hearing either. How could he do this, how could he carry this terrible burden when all he was was a simple priest?  _ I cannot do this Father. _

His mind went back to that dreadful night and Wilhelm ’s reactions to his father’s final words, words that he wasn’t close enough to hear or understand.

“Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?2”

_In pectore._

Patrick knew he was doomed.

Trapped.

There was no way for the Cardinals to take back the acclamation, and no way for him to abdicate the position. Patrick was in that strange in-between stage. The Cardinals would not accept his refusal, and it all stemmed from his actions from the night before. He looked down to the gas mask that Wilhelm held and then back to the Cardinal ’s face. It was obvious what the older man was patiently waiting for.

“Accipio3,” Patrick finally whispered.

It was done. He was Pope. There was no backing out now. Patrick let some of the younger Cardinals help him to his feet. Those same Cardinals now led him towards the altar.

“No.” Strauss moved to block their path. “It’s not needed.”

“What do you mean?” one asked. He was both confused and irritated. “His Holiness isn’t even a bishop.”

Because of the events leading up to and the beginning of the Conclave, Wilhelm went back to the desk he was seated at and brought forth one of the daily reports, specifically the last one that was published before the previous Pontiff had died. He pointed to the bottom of the second page and then handed it to the Cardinal in front of him.

“In pectore?” whispers began swirling around Patrick, and soon he was physically surrounded by even more Cardinals.

“Did the Holy Father tell you?” one asked.

“No.” Patrick shook his head. His own mind was swirling with the implication. Had he been a Cardinal all this time? Was this what was said before his father had died?

“This way Your Holiness,” Wilhelm indicated a door off to the side.

Patrick knew where it led. Just as he left the chapel he could hear the door to the chamber that burned the votes closing.  _ They _ _ ’re telling the world. I’m doomed…, _ and there was nothing he could do about it now.

The room he found himself in was larger than he expected. Hanging from a movable clothing rod were three white cassocks of different sizes along with the vestments he would be dressed in. It didn ’t take that long and soon he reappeared in the Sistine Chapel wearing one of the white cassocks and pectoral cross along with a matching white headpiece and the rest of the vestments. It felt odd not wearing black anymore. His old cassock was like a well fitted leather glove, one that he realized he would not be able to wear again.

The chapel was the same, but this time a chair had been placed before the altar. The Cardinals were also still in their red vestments. They were all smiles and applause as he slowly limped to the chair.

Once seated Wilhelm came forward and took Patrick ’s hand to kiss it. “Quo nomine vis  vocari? 4 ”

Patrick ’s mind went blank. Of all the things, he completely forgot that he would be asked to take a name to be called for the rest of his life.  _ I have to think of something,  _ _**something.** _ His mind whirled and he felt lightheaded again, but nothing came to mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the faintness would go away.

“Holy Father?”

Patrick opened his eyes and looked to the Cardinal standing before him. It surprised him to see empathy and compassion in his eyes as he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Those simple actions helped him recall something from the time after the Crucifixion.  _ Of course. _

“Barnabas. It shall be Barnabas.”

The Illuminati had tried their hardest to destroy the church he loved, but he wanted to offer a hand of peace to them.

  


  


An hour later, he was standing in a room that was at the front of St. Peter ’s Basilica. Now was the time to let the rest of the world know whom the Cardinals had elected as the successor to St. Peter. The doors had been opened a short time earlier and the red veil that separated them from the outside world hung in the still, late morning air. Barnabas heard voices from somewhere behind him. One of them he easily recognized as Wilhelm Cardinal Strauss, who was now his Camerlengo, while the other he wasn’t as sure. Glancing over his shoulder he recognized him.

Langdon.

Seeing the Harvard symbolist there wasn ’t all that surprising. The man’s sympathetic look caught him off guard for a moment. With a nod, he turned his attention back to the veil. In a way he was glad to see him. He wanted to impress on the agnostic that religion was imperfect because man was imperfect, and he was a prime example of it. And the Illuminati proved that man was beyond imperfect. Man was and is desperately wicked. Only God could bring him back to some semblance of holiness.

As soon as the deacons were finished with setting everything up and making sure everything was in place, the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Clemente Costello while still dressed in red, stepped forward when the veil was pulled open, along with two more deacons. One held a microphone while the other a large red folio.

The crowd grew quiet as the announcement was made:

“Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum:   
Habemus Papam.   
Eminetissimum ac reverendissimum Dominum, Dominum Patricus, Sanctæ Romanæ Cardinalem McKenna, qui sibi nomen imposuit Barnabam.5”

The cry of the faithful far down in the square below could easily be heard when Clemente had finished. The three men slipped back inside and all bowed reverently to him.

“In just a short time,” Strauss gave him another compassionate smile, “And it will be time.”

It took a bit of time, but as soon as everyone had gathered into position, the doors before them were open. Following the deacon that carried the cross, and flanked by both Costello and Strauss, Barnabas stepped forward slowly to the edge of the balcony. He was tired, but he smiled at the crowds below. The deacon that held the microphone earlier slipped between him and Costello and held it in place.

Barnabas raised his hands in an attitude of prayer. He knew he was not only the first Irish priest to be raised to the Pontificate, but the youngest one ever. Barring illness, he would probably be the longest ever on record to serve.

  


TBC...

1 I have been called to stand before the College of Cardinals.

2 Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?

3 Yes, I accept

4 By what name will you be called?

5 I announce to you a great joy: We have a Pope! The Most Eminent and Most Reverend Lord, Lord Patrick Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church McKenna, who takes to himself the name Barnabas.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 2  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


  


_**Chapter 2** _

  


  


The car explosion had put the local citizens on edge, especially with it being so close to Vatican City during the Conclave. The Polizia di Stato came within minutes and cordoned off the area as soon as they were able. They were used to car bombs going off at the worst possible time, and this was no different, at first. The explosion in the skies shortly thereafter made everyone either drop to the ground or run in panic to the closest shelter. People slowly emerged, most were uninjured, but the ones in the minority needed help as soon as possible. With it being evening, and people heading back to their vehicles or home only made everything worse. Car alarms were blaring in the streets as people now milled around in a daze.

_Would there be another vote?_

No one knew for certain what would happen now.

The Polizia managed to continue with their investigation of the burned out car wreckage. What bothered the them about this particular car bomb was that it happened under the Passetto di Borgo, the bridge that connected the Vatican to Castel Sante ’Angelo. What it did was really complicate matters. As per regular police procedures, they brought the burnt out wreck to forensics. The body they found inside was removed and was now lying on a metal slab in the morgue. The Polizia took policing the streets of Rome and its outlying areas seriously, especially around Vatican City. Although what happened within the walls of the enclave was left to the Vatican Security.

The election of the new Pontiff the next morning wasn ’t lost on the investigators. They all gathered around the television monitors and watched the live feed from one of the local news stations of the white smoke from the chimney attached to the Sistine Chapel. There were some rumors of what el Camerlengo had done for both Vatican City and Rome. The explosion over the Eternal City was extremely large, and people seemed to think he was the one responsible for it. Other rumors stated that he had removed a large bomb from St. Peter’s Basilica by helicopter and moved it far enough away to remove both cities from the blast radius, and in essence saving them all.

A cheer went up from the crowd as soon as the Senior Cardinal Deacon Clemente Costello announced that the Cardinals did indeed chose the one that saved them all. The bells pealed the joyous announcement shortly before the doors were opened to the Papal balcony and the faithful caught sight of their new Pope. However, nothing could hide just how tired and hurt the new Pontiff looked when the cameras finally trained on him. In spite of everything Barnabas asked for continued prayers for him, and then he gave the traditional  _ Urbi et Orbi _ blessing in perfect Italian.

As soon as the ceremony was completed, the police went back to their investigations. Forensics quickly reported that the American car and license plate meant it would not be easy tracing where it came from. At least the American tags gave them some idea where to start looking. There was an American base less than three hours south, and outside Naples. With both tag and vehicle identification number on hand, they sent inquires to the base police requesting information on the possible owner of the vehicle.

About a week later the lead investigator on the case received a call from the base commander asking for information on the individual that was found dead inside the vehicle. Not thinking anything out of the ordinary, the Italians sent what they had. The answer the Polizia received about the deceased individual was vague at best. All they were told was that the appropriate authorities would be in contact with them.

  


Naval Criminal Investigative Service senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs entered the MTAC. The room was in a permanent semi-gloom so the images on the computer screens set up around the room and the largest one on the far wall were clear to the people within the theater type space. There was always something happening somewhere in the world. And from this room NCIS watched over everything.

Gibbs joined the dark skinned man who stood in the center of the room.  “Any reason why you called?”

“Here, put this on?” He was handed headphones with a microphone attached. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the comment before turning his attention back to the large screen. What looked like a naval officer was seated at a desk. Behind him was a window that showed bright blue skies behind him. “If you could start from the beginning, Franchetti?”

“ _Yes, Director Vance. As I was stating: we received word from the Polizia di Stato of what looked like at first glance an American vehicle destroyed in a car bomb in Rome two weeks ago. The Italian investigators assigned to the case sent over the tags and VIN in hopes that we could identify the car more quickly since it’s an American registered vehicle. We got a hit immediately when we first checked it against our own database. Our records state that the car was owned by the XO, Major Daniel Parker for the security department here at the American base in Naples._

“ _At first, after using the new information, we thought the car might have been stolen since the officer had taken two weeks leave to be present at the end of the Conclave. He was supposed to report back on duty today, but he never showed up. No calls, no nothing. We sent an inquiry to the Polizia and received back a disturbing report that they were concerned that Major Parker could have been killed in the bomb, which was in walking distance of Vatican City and underneath the Passetto di Borgo.”_

“Was the victim the XO?”

“ _Not that we can tell.”_ Franchetti shook his head. _“We’re not sure what to think about it. The Polizia is very concerned because of it’s position in relation to the Vatican. Moreover, they don’t want to work with the office here. They’re being rather difficult and want someone from Washington.”_

“Interesting,” Gibbs muttered.

“Very,” Vance answered, his voice just as low. “Franchetti, tell Rome that their wishes will be granted. I’m going to have Gibbs and his team head over as soon as they’re able.”

Relieve crossed Franchetti ’s face before disappearing behind a mask of calm.  _ “Thank you, sir. Let me know their travel plans so I can have them picked up and shuttled over to the American Embassy.” _

A printer sounded off to the side. Vance, while removing his headset moved to the bank of computer terminals and retrieved a folder then several pieces of paper off the printer. Once the feed from Naples was cut, the lighting in the room drastically decreased leaving everything in almost complete darkness. The seal of the US Navy now bounced around the large screen as if it were a screensaver.

“You’ve got your orders, Gibbs.” Vance handed him the folder. “I’ll call Andrews and let them know you and your team are heading out.”

Gibbs wasn ’t all that surprised at the director’s orders. Franchetti, with Vance’s permission had all but dumped the case into his lap.  _ This should be interesting, _ he mused as he looked over the information on his way back to his desk. As soon as he sat down he looked up to the expectant looks on the faces of his team members. He placed the folder on his desk and opened the drawer where he normally stored his weapon and pulled out his travel folio.  “Go home and get your bags.”

Not hearing any movement, Gibbs looked up and noted the confused look on their faces.  “And make sure you’ve got your passport. We’re heading to Rome.”

“Rome?” Senior Agent in charge Tony DiNozzo asked.

“Yes, DiNozzo. Rome.”

Without another word, the agents grabbed their things and hurried towards the exit. Several minutes later Gibbs got up and followed the agents, for he too needed to retrieve his things.

  


  


Less than two hours later, they were on their way to Andrews Air Force Base. Compared to how they normally were in the car, the agents were unusually quiet. Looking into the mirror Gibbs watched Ziva David, their Mossad liaison officer pointedly ignoring junior Agent Timothy McGee. He shook his head.  _ They _ _ ’re like children. _ Sometimes he felt more like a parent over three very stubborn and unruly children, than senior agent. He glanced sidelong to Tony who sat in the front passenger seat. The look of empathy on his face was surprising. He shrugged it off and turned his attention back to the road.

Even with the semi-heavy lunch traffic, it didn ’t take all that long to reach the reserve base. Gibbs glanced once again into the mirror, this time noting Ziva’s sudden interest in her surroundings as they approached the area of the flightline their travel plans listed. Before them was an Air Force KC135, an Iron Maiden, in the final stages of preparation on the tarmac.  _ Must be what we _ _ ’re heading out in. _

He pulled to a stop just outside the closest hanger.  “Okay, out,” he ordered as he slid the car into park. The three agents quickly followed and they all retrieved their suitcases from the trunk. Ziva was still ignoring McGee, but not like she had been earlier. He shook his head, but then pushed the errant thoughts to the back of his mind when an officer in a flightsuit walked up to them.

“Gibbs, NCIS,” he told the officer while pulling out his ID. “And this is the rest of my team: Agents DiNozzo, McGee, and Officer David.”

“The CO told me you were needing transport to Rome.”

“Yes.” A bit of a smile crossed Gibbs face as he looked at the pilot and then the large plane.

“Agents, if you will follow me.” With a nod, the pilot turned on his heels and headed towards the mid-air refueling tanker.

“Let’s go everyone.” Gibbs ordered as he picked up his bag and followed the pilot. As they approached the plane, base personnel moved their car to a more appropriate location while they were gone.

Getting on the plane was simple enough. Inside, the setup was different from what Gibbs expected. Instead of sitting against the bulkhead, there were tracks running up and down the floor where pallets could be attached to secure cargo that needed to be shipped in a climate controlled environment. The bulkheads still held parachutes if they were ever needed.

Within the expanse were two sections of seat inserts close to the cockpit. As Gibbs walked past the first section, he put his suitcase on one of the seats and secured it in place, then continued on to the other section and sat down. From all their travels his agents knew the general protocols when traveling to overseas destinations.

“Why couldn’t we have been on a gulfstream,” Tony bemoaned as he plopped down in another one of the available seats.

“Because, DiNozzo, this way we can get there with no stops, and not have to deal with customs.”

Once in the air and at cruising altitude, Gibbs pulled out the folder Vance gave him earlier and rose to his feet to address the three agents before him.  “I’m only briefing you now because I didn’t have time before.”

He handed out hard copies of what turned out to be a service record for a naval officer.  “Major Daniel Parker, XO of security at the Allied Joint Force Command Naples. He took two weeks leave to attend the election of the new Pontiff. He was supposed to report back on duty today.”

“And he didn’t,” Ziva commented on the obvious.

“No, he didn’t. No one knows what happened to him. As of this morning he’s AWOL.”

“Then why are we traveling to Rome?” Ziva furrowed her brow.

“His car was destroyed in by a bomb shortly before the explosion that happened over Vatican City.” Gibbs handed out another piece of paper, this time it was a color photo. The image was taken from footage captured by the Vatican’s own cameras. Even being a still image, the bluish explosion was still impressive.

“Do you think there might be a connection?” McGee asked.

“So far the Polizia di Stato, the Italian Police aren’t saying anything about that, and Vatican City has been very tight-lipped. Our job is to find out what happened to Major Parker. If the Vatican is involved in any way we will find out.”

Gibbs retrieved the handouts then closed the folder. He dropped it on the seat he was using.  “We’re going to land in about,” he glanced at his watch, “sixteen hours. Today is going to be a long day, so I suggest everyone gets some rest.”

  


  


The sun was just beginning to rose behind Mount Vesuvius as the KC135 landed at the Allied Joint Force Command Naples. Tony groaned as he stretched.  “Why couldn’t we have been on a gulfstream?” he asked again.

No one answered his question. Everyone knew that airplane seats were never truly conductive for any type of rest. Sleep would only come in the evening, and looking at the placement of the sun, it would be at least another 14 to 16 hours before the sun would set over the Mediterranean Sea.

Retrieving their bags, the four agents exited the plane and stepped onto the tarmac. A large sedan was parked against the closest hanger. As they neared, a man in civilian clothing came forward.  “Agent Gibbs?”

Gibbs dropped his bag and pulled out his ID.  “Yes?”

The man reached out a hand in greeting.  “I’m Agent Mark Franchetti. Thank you for coming.” He indicated the car with a sweep of his hand. “I can take you to the Embassy.”

Gibbs glanced from the fellow agent to the car. He then introduced the other agents with him.

They loaded up the car and climbed into it. The inside was more spacious than it looked. Ziva squeezed into the middle of the backseat while Tony commandeered the front passenger seat. McGee had his laptop case on the floorboard and between his legs.

“You sure you want to be up there, Tony?” Ziva asked with a smile on her face.

“There’s no law that states that I’m not supposed to sit up here,” the senior agent answered with a wink.

“No, but you might think there should be one after today,” she answered sweetly.

“It can’t be that bad…,” Tony’s voice trailed off at Gibbs’ amused look. “Whatever.” The agent turned back around and reached over to make sure his shoulder strap was secure.

“He has no idea,” Ziva muttered in Russian.

“Nope.”

Three hours later the car slowed and then stopped outside a building that had the Great Seal of the United States of America in a prominent place. Standing on either side of the door were two US Marines standing guard. They had arrived at the American Embassy in one piece. Tony seemed grateful when he quickly got out of the car.

“And I thought Washington drivers were crazy,” Tony muttered as he rubbed his face. He jumped at the tire squeals and a horn blaring, then blushed in embarrassment. He scowled at Ziva’s amused look before going to collect his suitcase. “Are we staying here?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Hasn’t been decided yet,” Gibbs answered as he walked up to the side entrance and into the building. While in the compound they would be on American soil.

Once inside Tony took a deep breath and smiled.  “It already feels like home.”

“Tony, I know you’ve been out of the country, so stop pretending that you haven’t.” Ziva frowned.

“Can it, you two,” Gibbs ordered over his shoulder.

The two cringed then followed Gibbs deeper into the building.

“Put your things here,” Gibbs indicated a room off to the side while ignoring the two younger agents. “We’re going to meet with the Polizia.”

“And you need my skills,” Ziva answered the unspoken comment.

“Yes.”

From his actions earlier, it was apparent that Tony was not looking forward to being subjected to Rome traffic. The four agents climbed into an available van, this time Ziva was in the front passenger seat.

The Polizia di Stato ’s headquarters was located some ways from the American Embassy. When they finally stepped inside the building, Ziva did the introductions. The front desk officer nodded and directed the group to an empty office.

“McGee,” Gibbs pointed to the empty desk.

“Yes, Boss,” the junior agent nodded as he put his laptop case on the desk and pulled out his computer. As he was setting it up another man came into the room.

Ziva came up to him and talked with him for a moment until he answered in accented English.

“You can understand us?” Gibbs looked at him in surprise.

“Of course, Agent. Most of the officers here have at least some knowledge of English. I find it most profitable.” He reached out his hand, “Inspector Giovanni d’Ambrosio.”

“Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS,” Gibbs introduced himself then then rest of his team.

“Thank you for coming, Agent.”

Gibbs nodded.  “Was there anything found in the vehicle besides the body?” At the Italian’s hesitation he signed. “Inspector, I’ve been given permission to investigate Major Parker’s disappearance. If I am to find out what happened to the Major I need to know what was in the car in the first place.”

“Of course,” the Italian inspector finally nodded. “The Vigili Urbani found the remains of a computer. We are in the process of seeing what remains on the…what do you call it…hard drive?”

“Boss?” McGee stood up and looked at Gibbs.

“Go with him,” the senior agent indicated Giovanni.

Gibbs turned to the other two agents,  “DiNozzo, go with Ziva and see what you can find out from the officers that were on patrol that night.”

“Right,” Tony nodded and followed the Mossad Officer out the door.

When Gibbs was alone, he looked around the room and then out the window. What he saw didn ’t tell him much about the city, only that the buildings were close together. “Where are you Major Parker,” he muttered as he looked at the people walking past without seeing them.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 3  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 3** _

  


For the longest time McGee sat hunched over the computer, looking closely at the screen that held very little information. Thinking it might be better, he indicated the larger screen that was attached to one of the walls,  “Can we use that?”

The Polizia intel analyst Maria Turano nodded. She opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a remote. A short time later the two were now standing before the screen.  “What is this?” McGee asked while shaking his head.

Maria shook her head.  “Schematics of something, we are not sure at the moment.”

“Not sure? I thought you’d be able to read this,” the NCIS agent pointed to written text.

“This document is over six hundred years old. Things change, names change. And I have never seen this building before, if it is still standing,” she finished with a whisper.

“There’s nothing you recognize? Nothing at all?”

“Agent, we do not have records such as this for the very old buildings. Even though it could be at least six hundred years old, it looks like it might be older.” Maria backed up and folded her arms. “Look at Castel Sante’Angelo. Emperor Hadrian built it as his mausoleum. We do not have access to it because even though it is in Roma, it is part of Vatican City. There are several other buildings like that. It is the duty of the Swiss Guard to protect the buildings of the Vatican.

“Really…,” McGee’s voice trailed off as he continued to look closely at the image on the large screen. _I need to show this to Gibbs._ He snapped back.  “Can you keep this on the screen? I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried through the door and out into the corridor.

“Boss,” McGee blurted out as he burst into the room. The senior agent was still looking out the window as he answered, “What do you have McGee?” Gibbs turned around to look at the younger agent as if to prompt him.

“I really need to show you something. Uh…they were able to access one of the few files that wasn’t entirely corrupted,” he began as they moved into the corridor.

“And?” there was a slight edge to Gibbs’ voice.

“I think they might have found something.” McGee led Gibbs into the room he had been working in and stopped before the plasma screen which still had the image on it.

“Schematics of some sort,” Gibbs muttered as he took a long look.

“The analyst never saw this before. She also thinks it’s the schematics for one of the buildings here in Rome.”

Gibbs cocked his head to the side before baking away.  “And all the writing is in Latin,” he muttered. “Get a copy of this. I want you to take a closer look at the Embassy.”

“Sure, Boss,” McGee pulled out a flash drive from his suit pocket and copied the image onto the portable drive. When he was finished, he followed the senior agent out of the tech room and back into the corridor to the offices they were initially brought to.

Several minutes later both Tony and Ziva met them.

“Boss?” Tony paused at the look Gibbs gave him.

“At the Embassy.”

As soon as they were back at the Embassy McGee plugged in the flash drive into his computer. Once he deemed it safe and that it had not picked up any viruses, he accessed the image. The large plasma screen sharpened the image so it was easier to see than before.  “I’m still not sure what I’m looking for, Boss,” he said as he turned to look at the older agent.

“Keep at it, and let me know what you find.”

“Right….” After a moment McGee turned around and realized he was alone in the room. “I wish Abby was here,” he muttered as he went back to looking at the image on the screen.

  


Gibbs left McGee so he could see what Tony and Ziva had learned. Normally he would have asked them there at the Polizia headquarters, but he didn ’t feel right about it. Now at the Embassy, he felt better, but not by much. “What did you find?”

“Policing procedures are different,” Tony looked with some disgust.

Ziva cut him off,  “There was something interesting.” The Israeli hesitated for a moment before continuing, “There was a rope used for scaling walls hanging from the top of the Passetto to the street.”

“Could be anything, Boss…Boss?”

“Stay here,” Gibbs ordered as he left the room. Several minute later he walked into the office of the ambassador without preamble. “Where’s the Ambassador to the Vatican?” he demanded.

John Stanton looked up in surprise at the sudden interruption. He wore a dark suit with an American/Italian flag pin on his lapel. The NCIS director had warned him that Agent Gibbs was brusque at best.  “Agent,” he removed his glasses, “the post is vacant at the current time.”

“Then how am I to contact Vatican City?” Gibbs began pacing the room.

“Until the post is filled, I perform some of the duties. Tell me, why do you have to contact them?”

“It is part of my investigation,” Gibbs countered. He hesitated before finally sitting down in one of the available chairs. “There’s been an interesting development in the case,” he admitted.

“Of the missing Major?” Stanton leaned forward showing great interest.

“Maybe.”

When Stanton realized that Gibbs would not offer any more information he pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Figures,” he muttered. Sighing, he shook his head. “Okay, what do you want to ask them?”

The sudden capitulation caught Gibbs completely off guard. The NCIS agent had clearly been gearing up for a fight he knew he would never wind, but recovered quickly. Before he could repeat what what he said, the Ambassador pushed forward a pen and piece of paper.  “Here, that is if you think it might jeopardize your investigation.”

“Thank you,” the agent answered as he reached for the objects.

“While you’re writing, make sure you put down your name and who you are working for. I’ll have the courier send it over to the Vatican Security.”

Gibbs gave him a long look.  “I would think I would know that by now.”

“Sorry,” Stanton muttered.

“If your sending this directly to them, doesn’t it need to be translated?”

“No.” Stanton shook his head. “Most of the members of Security speak English.”

After several minutes of writing, Gibbs folded and then handed the paper back to Stanton who in turn called one of the couriers that was on staff.

“I need you to take this over to,” Stanton looked down to his notes, “Commander Chartrand.”

“Is he head of the Swiss Guards or Security?”

“He’s head of the overall security of the Vatican. He’s not a member of the Guards. And he was promoted less that two weeks ago. I’m still trying to remember everyone’s name since the election.” He frowned, “It’s just like one of our elections. When a Cardinal is raised to the Pontificate, everyone’s positions changes within the hierarchy.” He hesitated, “Well, maybe not exactly the same. Everyone is still in the hierarchy, just in different positions.”

Gibbs left the office in search for his agents once again. McGee was where he expected, still staring at the image on the screen.  “Find anything yet?”

“No, Boss. I think it’d be good if Abby was here to look at it.”

“She’s on the other side of the world right now, McGee. Keep at it.” Gibbs looked around the room, checking to see if anything did catch his eye. On the table were a couple of photographs of several stone arches above a street.

“The Polizia were nice enough to give us copies of the images they took at the crime scene,” Tony explained as Gibbs picked one of them up. He could just see something hanging down from the top of the image down to the street level.

“Is this the rope?”

“Yes, but they’re not letting it go.”

Gibbs looked over to DiNozzo,  “Why?”

“They haven’t said why.”

“All right, see what else you can find out.” The senior agent turned back to the image on the screen before leaving the room.

  


  


After lunch a member of the Ambassador ’s staff came in looking for Gibbs. The senior agent had come and gone several times, and just happened to be available. Apparently Stanton wanted to talk to Gibbs again. For the NCIS agent, the whole thing seemed rather odd. It was almost as if the government official was getting permission from another source. Knowing not to take anything for granted, Gibbs followed the staff member back through the building and to Stanton’s office.

As before, the door was open enough so that Gibbs could see the Ambassador seated at his desk. The man seemed preoccupied with something or someone in his office. The receptionist frowned but eventually nodded towards the door. Acknowledging it, he reached his hand out, and pushed the door further open and stepped inside the room.

Gibbs had been right for Stanton wasn ’t alone. Seated across the desk from the Ambassador was a smart dressed man. He had sandy blond hair and a slight build. His size reminded him of their medical examiner, Dr. Donald Mallard, when he was much younger. The younger man turned and looked him over with one sweeping glance then turned his attention back to the ambassador.

“Agent, I would like to introduce to you Commander Georg Chartrand. He is head of Vatican City’s overall security.”

At the introduction, Chartrand stood up and gave Gibbs another once over before finally reaching out a hand in greeting.

“Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS,” Gibbs pulled out his ID and showed it to the Commander before accepting the proffered hand. He never expected to see someone from the Vatican, and if he did think it would eventually be needed this was too early in the investigation.

“If you will come with me,” the commander ordered while brushing past Gibbs on the way out of the office.

Giving Stanton a slight smile, Gibbs followed Chartrand out of the office and back into the corridor.

“I am to escort you to Vatican City,” Chartrand frowned. He looked down and paused at the bulge where Gibbs had his shoulder harness. “And leave your weapon here.”

For a moment Gibbs gave his own frown. It was one of those things he realized that if he wanted to get answers, he needed to go along with it.

“Vatican laws are different from Italian laws.”

It was at that point Gibbs realized that he would be entering into another country.  “All right,” he nodded in acquiesce. “I need to let my people know.”

With Chartrand ’s nod, Gibbs went back to the room he had his suitcase and stored his weapon then went back over to the room where his agents were the last time he saw them. McGee was still standing in front of the plasma screen and muttering to himself, while Tony and Ziva were at their computers.

“I told you McGee, Abbey’s not here.”

“I know, Boss,” McGee sighed as he turned to look back at him.

“Keep at it.” He put a hand on McGee’s shoulder. The simple action seemed to create a spark in the younger agent’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, Boss. I’ll figure it out.”

Getting the reaction he wanted, Gibbs turned to leave and found Chartrand standing in the doorway and staring intently at the image.  _ Interesting. _

The commander shook himself out of his trance.

“What’s going on, Boss?”

“Yeah?” Tony looked up from his own work.

“This is Commander Chartrand of Vatican City Security,” Gibbs introduced the commander to the rest of his team. “Someone in the Vatican wants to talk to me. _Probably their prime minister, or whatever the position is called_.

“And weapons are not allowed in the Holy See except for select members of Security.”

“If you need me, call,” Gibbs said over his shoulder as he left the room and back into the hall. As soon as they exited the building, Chartrand pulled out a packet of cigarettes and drew one out. He lit the narrow roll of tobacco from a generic lighter and took a deep breath. After a few minutes they moved in the direction of the parking lot. “How long will this take,” Gibbs asked as he managed to fold himself into the small car.

Ten minutes later the two were walking through the corridors of the Apostolic Palace. In all his years, Gibbs had never expected to be where he was at this moment. Yes, he had been in the White House and other important buildings within DC, but this was different.  “Does the Prime Minister know I’m coming?” Chartrand had never told him whom he was meeting.

They stopped in a simply decorated room that looked suspiciously like a foyer.

“Who said you were going to meet with the Cardinal Secretary of State?” Chartrand went over to a phone and dialed a number. After a moment he said something in Italian. A few moments later he answered again then replaced the receiver.

Gibbs had no idea what was happening until the door opened and a priest slipped out of the next room.

“Agent Gibbs?” the newcomer asked in heavily accented English.

“Yes?”

“You may enter now.”

TBC…..


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 4  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

_**Chapter 4** _

  


Patrick McKenna, now called Barnabas to the one billion plus Catholics around the world, looked around the room of his office. He was alone for the time being since he had cleared his schedule for the next hour. He still had a difficult time accepting the events of the previous two weeks. It was only after the first Mass celebrated with the Cardinals in the Sistine Chapel and then the Papal Inauguration Mass had started did he truly come to terms with the crushing weight of the responsibility that the Papacy demanded. It came to a head when he left the enclave and traveled to the Lateran Basilica to claim it as his official seat as the Bishop of Rome. Now he felt as if he were being pulled in all different directions with constant meetings and things he had to read or sign. It was a very unsettling and unpleasant experience. Everyone in the Vatican seemed to think that because of his youthful age, he had strength beyond his own human failings and could do everything that the high profile position demanded.

The only respite he felt he had was when he was working with hook and yarn, crochet if you will. This simple act of weaving yarn into a blanket or scarf, he felt, was the only thing keeping him sane at this point in time.  _ Now I know why Father knit. _

Barnabas looked at the window. The same window where he father would speak to the faithful on Sundays when he was in the Vatican. He had yet to continue the tradition. It ’s just that he had no time to study for it. At first he thought about waiting for his visitor at his desk in the room behind him, but in the end decided not. That was his personal bedroom, and one he wanted to keep as private as possible. So his formal office would have to do.

The sound of one of his secretaries closing a door triggered the memory of that desperate helicopter ride. Barnabas dropped his hands into his lap and grasped what he was working on while trying to focus on what he thought was real. Once again, only when he blacked out was he able to emerge from the memory.

“Your Holiness? Are you okay?”

Barnabas blinked his eyes several times, attempting to clear them. His hands were trembling as if from old age.  “I….”

“Let me call Dr. Virgulin.” Fr. Seamus O’Hanlon reached for the phone on the desk.

“No.” Barnabas shook his head. “I’ll, I’ll be all right.” The memories had settled after about a week. This was the first time one had reared its ugly head once again. _Father give me strength to deal with this._ He remembered when he was in the air force of several pilots having to deal with something similar after coming back from the Middle East. While helping them he soon realized that he had to come to terms with the realization that he was being called into the priesthood. If he had gone against that call his life would have been completely different.

The Pontiff sighed then reached over to the laptop on the desk and the volume control before picking up his crocheting. Even the music had been drowned out by the power of the memory. He reached over and lowered the volume. Just the thought of using the internet to further the Gospel was something he was eagerly looking forward to. It wasn ’t all that surprising that a few of the older Cardinals still had misgivings. It didn’t bother him, because he would get the message out whatever way he could. The only problem was that he wasn’t as technically savvy with computers as the younger generation.  _ That _ _ ’s who I need. _

Barnabas dropped his crochet work into his lap once again, and then with a rare show of doubt, he sighed while rubbing his face. There was still so much he needed to do, and not enough time in the day to do it. He hadn ’t even started the daily Mass for the men and women that lived in Saint Marta.

More often than not, Barnabas found himself prostrate before the Crucifix in his personal chapel asking God for wisdom, and strength he knew he didn ’t posses.

The sound of a phone from the next room brought Barnabas out of his ruminations. He wondered who it was when he heard his second secretary, Fr. Paolo Cruz answer it.  _ I probably should get those phones that tell them who _ _ ’s calling. _

Fr. Paolo stuck his head through the door. He looked back to Fr. Seamus before bringing his full attention back to Barnabas.  “Holy Father, the American is here.”

This was the real reason why he had his schedule cleared. Once the meeting started, he didn ’t want to be interrupted, and both secretaries understood. Barnabas reached over and sifted through the papers on his desk and picked up the one that had handwriting on it before setting it down again. “Send him in. Remember, I do not wish to be interrupted.”

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Fr. Paolo put his hands together and bowed in reverence before slipping out of the doorway.

Once he was alone Barnabas glanced up to the security camera. Technically he wasn ’t alone, for Chartrand and the men and women under him kept constant vigil of where he was and with whom he was with. When they were first installed he felt odd looking at the cameras, but also understood that if it wasn’t for them then no one would have believed him. Yet they could be manipulated. There was no footage showing his father being poisoned. The technically savvy Illuminati put in a loop and no one was the wiser until his own encounter with the group.

The door opened and he could see someone standing behind Chartrand, wearing what looked like an American style jacket. When security had first received the message from the American, it was delivered directly to him. From its contents alone the Pontiff had a full background check run through Interpol on the agent. He had to be careful. It was sad that he had to do things like this for his own protection.

As of now the check wasn ’t completed.

Because of his time in the military Barnabas could spot any man or woman who had that training whether they be Italian or from any other country. He indicated one of the empty chairs for the American to take. It was never good when his visitors stayed at the far end of the room. If they didn ’t come near he felt like he was yelling, which he readily disapproved. As the American came near he held his surprise in check, but there was something else, of what he couldn’t tell.

“Have a seat, Agent Gibbs.” The Pontiff again pointed to a chair, this time using the hook as a pointer. Setting it down, he picked up the message once again. _“Special Agent Jethro Gibbs,”_ Barnabas began, _“Of the United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS). I am investigating the disappearance of an American naval officer who was on leave in Rome for the Conclave. I would like to meet with anyone that resides in the Vatican who witnessed the car bomb that was set off shortly before the explosion over the city that was near the Vatican. I can be reached at the American Embassy._

“You have lofty goals, Agent. Rome is always filled with the faithful, especially during a conclave. What are you looking for?” Barnabas put the message back on his desk then picked up his crochet work again.

Gibbs eyes went from the Pontiff ’s face to his hands, and back to his face. “At the moment, Your Holiness, I’m not sure.” The American shifted. He looked uncomfortable in his seat. “I am looking for any information, no matter how minor, that is connected with the car bomb. If there is….”

Barnabas could easily surmise where the agent was heading with his comments.  “Sadly, car bombs are a tragic occurrence within Rome. Do you think there could be a connection with it and the American naval officer? How so?”

Gibbs frowned.  “I’m looking for Major Daniel Parker. It was his car that blew up. He was here for the Conclave, and never reported back on duty.”

There was a quiet knock from the door and it opened revealing Fr. Paolo once again. Barnabas gave him a pointed look at the unwanted interruption.

“Tua Santità1,” the priest nodded and moved across the room with a folder. “È finito.2” He handed it to the Pontiff then left the room.

Barnabas opened the folder to look at its contents. Just before the door closed, he called to the retreating priest,  “Grazie 3 , ” then began reading.

Gibbs hesitated before continuing,  “There was a rope hanging down from the top of the bridge to the street below.”

“I see.” Barnabas placed the folder face up on the desk. He propped his elbows on the flat surface and clasped his hands. “You were in the military, Agent Gibbs. Tell me, parachutes in helicopters?”

The NCIS agent opened his mouth and then closed it.

“I thought so.” Barnabas gave him a knowing look. He picked up his crochet work and began again. “I was a helicopter pilot in the Italian Air Force for six years before entering seminary. So yes Agent, I know all about this.”

“I don’t understand your reasoning and what you are talking about.”

Barnabas paused,  “there was a bomb planted deep inside the Basilica. It was worse than nuclear. It was an anti-mater bomb. With the Conclave in session, if you will, there was a limited number of men and women within Vatican City. The Swiss Guards are marksmen, not pilots. We had a helicopter in the Square to spirit away the eldest of the Cardinals if it came to that. That being said, I was the only one in the Vatican that had the skills to remove the bomb. If I had been permanently stopped I wouldn’t be here, this wouldn’t be here.” His eyesight grew dim and he felt as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Barnabas took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Your Holiness, are you all right?”

“Don’t, don’t worry,” Barnabas muttered while shaking his head. “I’m okay.” When he felt strong enough, he opened his eyes and looked across the desk to see a very concerned American Agent. “With everything I’ve had to go through I expect that it will take time to completely recovery.”

“You used the helicopter to remove the bomb?”

“And then parachuted out over the Square. There was no other way, or I’d be dead.”

“So you’re questioning why there was a parachute in the helicopter.” Gibbs furrowed his brow in obvious confusion. “But you’re the Pope. The Vicar of Christ. Don’t you have God’s ear?”

Barnabas gave him a snort.  “Agent, everyone has God’s ear.”

“It’s my duty to investigate the disappearance of Major Parker.”

“The owner of the car.”

Gibbs pulled out his notes.  “Yes, he was the officer that disappeared. That car explosion also happened under the bridge that connects the Vatican with the castle….”

“Castel Sante’Angelo.” Barnabas frowned. That was not what he was expecting to hear. He had assumed that there was another car destroyed somewhere within the city and somewhat close to the Vatican. He bit his bottom lip while trying to reconcile with God what he was about to do. “What if I tell you that there is a connection?”

Barnabas leaned back to watch the American’s reaction. He was deeply troubled at this new information. He could also tell that Gibbs had become very interested. _Lord, give me strength for what I_ _’m about to ask._ “I know it’s your duty to look for your American naval officer, but from what you’ve told me it looks like I need your help.”

Gibbs ’ mouth opened and then closed again. “Your Holiness, the only jurisdiction I have is in investigating Major Parker. The Italian police have permitted me to use some of their tools. You need to speak with your own police force, or security. Aren’t they the ones that would be entrusted with this?”

Barnabas set his work on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. Once he was certain he wouldn ’t collapse from either fatigue or weakness he began slowly pacing the floor with an obvious limp. The gold pectoral cross glinted dully over his white cassock every time he moved across the rays of light coming from the window. “Normally yes, but not this time.” He turned to look back to the American. Gibbs was on his feet out of respect.

“Please sit down, Agent. I think best when I’m up and moving around,” Barnabas explained as he gave a sitting motion to the American.

“This is very awkward,” Barnabas muttered as Gibbs sat back down. Going back to the desk, he opened the top drawer and pulled out his rosary, and then began fingering the beads as he moved over to the gold Crucifix attacked to the wall. With his back facing the agent, he continued, “Vatican Security has been compromised, and at the present time I am not sure whom to trust.”

“What about your God? Don’t you trust him?”

Barnabas thought the questions were move of an accusation, and maybe they were.  “Yes, I do trust Him. I trusted him with my life when I jumped out of that helicopter two weeks ago.” He paused when he felt his energy already lagging. “There is a saying: pray as if God is the only one who can take care of the situation, and work as if you’re the only one who can deal with the situation.” He turned to the side and looked over his shoulder. “I have all the worlds Catholics looking up to me to care for them all. There’s no harm if having help for my own personal security. In fact God might have sent you here specifically for this. Even David had soldiers under him and working for him.”

It looked as if Gibbs capitulated at the Pontiff ’s words. “All right, then what about the one who’s head of security?”

“Commander Chartrand?”

“Yes.”

“Until I know for certain, not even him.” _Though I desperately want to trust him._

“Why aren’t you speaking to your senior aide about this? Don’t you have one?”

“Yes, he’s the Camerlengo, chamberlain. And no, because the Cardinal who would become my camerlengo was inadvertently involved in the events that led up to the explosion.” Barnabas moved back to his desk and sat down with a sigh. His hand that held his rosary now rested on the flat surface while he was still fingering the beads one by one. “You see my problem?”

Gibbs leaned forward and glanced down at the open folder and looked at the information it held before looking back to the Pontiff.  “So you want to know why that helicopter had a parachute.”

“Yes.”

  


  


  


Gibbs, Styrofoam cup in hand, walked back into the Embassy deeply troubled. His initial investigation had morphed somehow into a second and possibly a third. Why would the Pontiff ask for his help? Weren ’t there more than enough detectives within Rome that could do the same job? And then there was Commander Chartrand’s reaction to the schematics only solidified his growing unease. He went straight to the communications room and found a headset. “I need to speak to Director Vance.”

A short time later Vance appeared on the moderately sized flat screen.  _ “What do you have, Gibbs?” _

“A mess.” Gibbs didn’t wait for an answer, “I just got back from talking to Vatican City. They believe that there is a connection between the car bomb and the events that led up to the new Pontiff’s election.”

“ _Interesting.”_

“The local police retrieved the remains of a computer from the vehicle. We were able to acquire one image that had not been completely corrupted. They’re schematics of some sort. The police had no idea what it’s of, but I might. The one thing that the police never mentioned was that there was a rope hanging down from the bridge that connects Vatican City with another building called Castel Sante’Angelo. That particular fortress is owned by the Vatican, but it’s in Rome. The person I spoke with believed that the two events were connected.”

“ _Who is this person, and why would they think it’s connected?”_

“Because,” Gibbs paused, “it was the Pontiff himself. I sent a message asking for possible witnesses and the answer I received was the head of Vatican Security in Ambassador Stanton’s office. He was the one that brought me over to the Vatican. Pope Barnabas also asked me to look into something else that happened.”

“ _Oh?”_

“Yes, he wants to know why there were parachutes in the helicopter.” Gibbs wasn’t about to tell Vance that they had also run a complete background check on him.

“ _You’re talking about the helicopter that removed the bomb?”_

“Yes. At that point Barnabas had not been elected to the Papacy. He was the one that managed to remove the bomb in time by helicopter, and parachuted to safety over St. Peter’s Square. He also believes that his hands are tied because of his position.” Gibbs shook his head. “It’s a mess, sir.”

Vance was quiet for several minutes.  _ “Gibbs, I need to run the Pontiff’s request past State. Until then, I’m authorizing you to look into the events surrounding his election.” _

“Including the Pontiff?”

“ _Yes, including Pope Barnabas, but just as a precaution. Remember your main goal is to find out what happened to Major Parker.”_

Just as Gibbs reached up to remove his headset Vance spoke again,  _ “Gibbs, do you think there’s anything to all this?” _

“I’m not sure.” Gibbs gut was telling him there was more than the Pontiff had led him to believe.

TBC...

1 Your Holiness - Italian

2 It’s finished - Italian

3 Thank you - Italian


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 5  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 5** _

  


Barnabas had no idea how long he sat staring at the far wall. For some time he thought about the other American that Security had requested a little more than two weeks earlier, Robert Langdon. When he first found out about it, he thought it was strange. Yet, when things started happening, especially before and during the Conclave he realized events were beyond his own realm of expertise or control. He willingly listened to both the symbolist and the scientist — his mind drew a blank on her name. From the few conversations he had with her, she seemed nice enough.

A single knock from the door and its opening drew him out of his thoughts. The familiar sounds brought back even more memories, most that were pleasant, of the time when he was the Camerlengo, and then the overwhelming loss, and everything he now had to do. Compared to the Cardinals he never had tome to property mourn. He had to run the Holy See, albeit in a much reduced capacity. For nine days he was never allowed to grieve his loss, there just was no time. At the end of each day instead of participating in Compline, he would collapse into his bed from exhaustion and be asleep before his head hit the pillow. With his rosary still wrapped around his hand, he clasped his hand together and bowed his head, letting his sorrow wash over him, finally mourning the death of his adopted father.

“Your Holiness?” his own camerlengo spoke from beside him, worry lacing his voice.

“For once I didn’t think of him all day until a short time earlier.” Barnabas turned to look at Strauss. The older Cardinal had his own sad look on his face.

“I don’t every want to forget him like I did my father.” Barnabas frowned, “I’m already having a difficult time remembering what my mother looked like.”

The older Cardinal placed a hand on Barnabas ’ shoulder and gave a squeeze. “We shall see them all again when we are raised to new life in Christ.”

Sitting back, Barnabas wiped his face. He was the Pope and there would be time to grieve privately in the evening after everyone was gone.  “Yes, but it’s difficult to believe sometimes.”

Thinking he had wasted enough time, he set the yarn off to the side and reached for one of the  _ Summa Theologica _ volumes by Thomas Aquinas. Sometimes it was dry reading, but he found it calming.

Strauss came around to the front of the desk and stood next to where the American agent sat. He glanced down to the open folder and frowned.  “What is this?” He reached for the folder and picked it up. “Jethro Gibbs?” Strauss’ said the name with a German accent.

“He was here a short time earlier.”

“Why?”

The station Barnabas had been listening to had dropped the music format for what sounded like a government council meeting. He reached over and stopped the sound before closing the web page. He had to admit there were some things that he still couldn ’t quite believe. He could send an email message and it go half way around the world in less than a minute, and here he was listening to a radio station that broadcast on the other side of the world.

The Pontiff looked from the laptop to his Camerlengo then back to the laptop.

“Your Holiness?” Strauss cocked his head to the side. He pressed his lips together as if contemplating his next words. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“Because,” Barnabas turned his attention back to his camerlengo, “It was something that needed to happen as soon as possible.” He hesitated, remembering how his own father had brought him in on many issues, but at the same time he wondered if it was only because of his familial relationship with the former Pontiff. Not saying anything else, he shuffled through the papers on his desk looking for the message. When he found it, he reached over and handed it to Strauss. He would let the Cardinal make his own opinion on its contents.

“I don’t understand,” the older priest said rhetorically as he handed the missive back. “You talked to him before you even asked for my thoughts?”

“Agent Gibbs is investigating the car bomb that killed the kidnapper that happened under the Passetto shortly before the large explosion over the square. Apparently the vehicle was owned by an American naval officer.” Barnabas knew he had to tell Strauss, but everything still bothered him.

“So this concerns the Illuminati? But, isn’t everything taken care of now? We found who it was that manipulated the events before it was too late. I still don’t understand.” Strauss shook his head.

Barnabas wasn ’t all that surprised that Strauss never mentioned Simeon’s name. “The only thing that came out of that mess was that we found the bomb in the crypt before it was too late.” He closed his eyes and sighed, praying that the images wouldn’t come back. “I don’t know who to trust right now,” he muttered.

There was a gasp, and Barnabas opened his eyes to see a wide eyed Strauss before him.  “But Barnabas…you need to talk to at least someone.”

Emboldened by the Pontiff ’s silence, Strauss rose to his feet and came around the desk. He placed a hand on Barnabas’ shoulder.

“I would…Wilhelm. I long to have confession, but…,” Barnabas placed a hand over the brand on his chest, “It was Simeon,” he refused to use the honorific designated for priests, “who…along with Commandant Richter, whom I fully trusted.” He looked up to Strauss, “And I know Simeon counseled you for years.”

“So you speak with this American who isn’t even a priest? You would rather speak with someone you never met before listening to my counsel?” Confusion slowly gave way to irritation in the camerlengo’s voice. “Apparently I’m not good enough?”

“It’s not that,” Barnabas tried to qualify. “It’s just that….”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I want to trust you, but until I know for certain, yes,” Barnabas whispered.

The Pontiff watched Strauss leave with more than just irritation in his step.  _ I really messed that up. _ But, until he knew for certain that he could trust Strauss, he head to leave him out of the loop.  _ Lord give me the ability to trust again. Help me in my unbelief. _

  


Gibbs remained within the Embassy ’s communication room debating on what he needed to do next. Leaning forward, he found a pen and paper and started writing down what needed to be done and what he wanted to have looked at. It was true when he told the director that everything was a mess. He paused and closed his eyes when his thoughts were intruded by memories.  _ I still miss you Jenn. _ Sometimes he wondered if he would ever truly recover from all the losses he had to deal with over his entire life. At least Maddie was alive, he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

The senior agent reached over to the coffee he purchased earlier and took a sip of the now cold brew. He loved Italian coffee, even if it was cold. The Italians brewed it dark and strong. Gibbs mind went back to the investigation at hand. There were so many things he had to do, and not enough time in the day to complete them. The thought of digging into the previous actions of the new Pontiff bothered him. There were also too many little inconsistencies to not take that particular course of actions. He wasn ’t all that surprised when he glanced at the open folder on Barnabas’ desk. It was like an open invitation, or maybe the Pontiff was letting him know that he was taking no chances.

_ I _ _ ’ve been here long enough. _ Gibbs took another sip of his cold coffee. Standing, he gathered both his list and his coffee and wandered over into the kitchen to reheat his drink in the microwave. When it was ready, he went back to the room where McGee was at. He knew the probationary agent was still trying to figure out what the schematics were describing. From Commander Chartrand ’s actions alone, he had more than a good idea of what it entailed.

“ _Oh come on, Probie-Wan Kenobi,”_ Tony ’s voice drifted through the door. 

Gibbs shook his head in amusement before letting it drop while entering the room.  “Got anything for me, McGee?” he strode across the room and towards the younger agent while ignoring Tony. He was serious in what he wanted, but sometimes Tony’s comments were almost too much for him. It was irritating to an extent, but he also admitted to himself that he was similar when he was younger.

“Um…Boss…uh…not yet. I’ve looked through every possible building in Rome. There’s no such building like this at all.” McGee pointed to the screen.

“Not all the buildings here are in Rome. You need to check The Vatican.”

McGee ’s eyes widened, and his brow furrowed at the same time. Apparently he never even considered the possibility. “I’m right on it,” he said as he went back to his computer.

“Where’s Ziva,” Gibbs asked as he turned to look around the room.

“I’ll get her.” Tony left the room.

Several minutes later the two returned.  “I was just checking with some contacts.” She shrugged. The Mossad Control Officer was dressed conservatively, as usual, with her Star of David emblem hanging from her neck on a delicate silver chain.

“And?” Gibbs prompted.

“I found some _very_ interesting things that happened in the hours leading up to the explosion over the city, ” Ziva answered while looking at her notes. “Apparently there were four Cardinals that were kidnapped a few days earlier,” she explained. “The CI I spoke with called them _preferiti_ —”

“The leading candidates,” Tony interrupted.

“What?”

“The _preferiti_ were, or are, considered the leading candidates for the Papacy during the Conclave. ” Tony hesitated before continuing, “It’s a Catholic thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Gibbs glared at Tony for a moment before going over and hitting him in the back of the head.

“Hey!” The lead agent looked at Gibbs for a moment before backing down. “All right,” he muttered.

“In the four hours leading up to the explosion they were killed on the hour, except the last one. He was saved before being drowned.” The Israeli looked up from her notes. “I have more.”

“Did I ask you to stop?” Gibbs voice held irritation.

“Um…nothing was ever confirmed, but it looks like the senior assistant to the former Pontiff could have been added to the list. Vatican Security has been extremely quiet about all of this.” Ziva looked up from her notes, “That’s all I have.”

“DiNozzo, I want to know who that last Cardinal is, and where he’s at, and I want to talk to him.” It was worse than he thought. Gibbs turned back to Ziva, “And I want you to find out everything you can about Barnabas, all the way down to what he eats for breakfast.”

“On it,” the two agents said in concert while bumping into each other in their hurry to either escape the room or just get the job finished.

When they were gone Gibbs took another sip of his once again cold coffee.

Just as he was leaving the room McGee spoke up from behind him,  “Boss, I think I might have something.”

_ Finally, the first good news of the day. _ Gibbs felt something similar to relief course through him.  “What is it?” He turned and went back to the younger agent.

“Even with its age there are schematics of St. Peter’s Basilica, but that’s not what this is of.” McGee pulled up an image on the computer monitor before him. Gibbs came near and took a look at it.

“Boss, this is the crypt at least 30 feet below where the formal services are held on Sundays. I think this is what the schematics are.” As an explanation, he pulled the drawing over the picture and made it transparent. It was an almost perfect match. 

McGee took a step back,  “If Major Parker had this on his computer….”

“He was either the one who set the bomb, or it was an inside job,” Gibbs finished.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 6  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 6** _

  


Some time later Tony came back with a name, Baggia. It wasn ’t all that difficult to get the information Gibbs had wanted. From Ziva’s contacts they all understood that there was one Cardinal that had survived the kidnapping. What was new was that he was now resting within the walls of Vatican City. Several other Cardinals had also been hurt during the explosion, so it wasn’t all that surprising to have one more added to the list.

With the sun setting in less than an hour, Gibbs looked at the information, debating on whether or not to contact the Pontiff. Near the end of his meeting with the Pope, he was given a business card with Barnabas ’ official contact information on it. Now with the knowledge that the surviving Cardinal was in the Vatican…. He sighed while going over to one of the empty computer terminals and logged into his email account.

Of all things, Gibbs had to admit that it was easy to reach the Pontiff this way. It was also nice how accessible he was at the same time. For the first time it seemed as if the Pope was truly in touch with the Catholics of the world.  _ He looks too young for something as big as what he _ _ ’s doing. _

Realizing that there was nothing much else Gibbs could do at this point, he pulled out the card and entered the email address into the appropriate space. Seeing the time on the computer he considered waiting until the morning, but decided otherwise. He really needed to speak with that Cardinal. Once he composed the email, he sent it off.

It was the next morning when he logged into his email did Gibbs find an answer. The message was short and to the point, telling him what he was allowed to do while in the Vatican and how he was to be escorted at all times while in the city-state.  “I can live with that,” he muttered while reaching for his coffee. He logged off and leaned back in the chair.  _ Who knows how this is related to Parker, _ he mentally shrugged. He only hoped that the connection would present itself sooner rather than later.

He stepped outside the building and into the small walled garden. It was a calming place where even though there was the sound of cars, it was muffled. Those same walls had another purpose, it was to keep out the curious. The door closing behind him reminded Gibbs that he wasn ’t alone anymore. He knew the shadows of his agents, and what he saw was not someone he recognized. A look over his shoulder let him know that it was the Ambassador. “I need someone to take me back over to the Vatican,” he greeted Stanton.

“Any reason why?”

“It’s part of the investigation.”

Stanton stood there for a time before heading back inside letting Gibbs alone to continue looking at the garden. He stayed outside for at least ten minutes. When not hearing anything of note, he walked back inside, looking for the ambassador.

“Agent?” a voice came from behind him.

“Yes?” Gibbs looked over his shoulder. A marine was standing there with his cover tucked under his arm.

“You requested to be shuttled over to Vatican City.” The question came out more as a statement than a question. “If you will come with me, sir.” He turned on his heel and headed towards the garage.

Passing by the computer room, Gibbs stuck his head inside. McGee was sitting at his computer, doing what he assumed was more research between the image and the schematics.  “McGee,” he called out, “You’re with me. Leave your weapon here, and bring your camera.”

The agent ’s head whipped up and his eyes widened. For a second he scrambled, making sure his computer was secured, then he secured his own weapon. “Oh my way, Boss. Let me just put this up.” McGee left the room with his gun in hand. He soon returned and followed Gibbs out the door.

  


“Boss, why are we being followed?” McGee kept his voice quiet as he turned to look at the two men in blue and wearing berets that were behind them. They had been within the walls of the Vatican for ten minutes before the junior agent had realized they were being followed.

“It was either that, or not have access to the Vatican or Cardinal Baggia,” Gibbs answered.

McGee nodded before realizing what Gibbs meant.  “So, when we’re here…,” he indicated the two guards.

“Yes, McGee, they will always be following us.”

“But….”

Gibbs stopped and turned to look at the younger agent.  “What, McGee?”

“Will I be able to…you know…,” the younger agent looked in the direction of the basilica.

“McGee, don’t worry about it. The Pontiff has given us permission to examine the events that lead to his election.” He placed a hand on the younger agent’s shoulder before turning back around and continued towards the Vatican housing leaving McGee to do his own investigating.

The building Gibbs eventually found himself was surprisingly on the other side of the Basilica from the Apostolic Palace. It was surprisingly modern looking although it fit in with the rest of the buildings that was within Vatican City. The building actually looked like some of the apartment buildings that were in and around Washington DC, but with some exceptions. There didn ’t look like there were any locks on the doors. Stopping in front of one in particular, he knocked.

The door eventually opened revealing a much older man in a loose fitting, black cassock. The Cardinal, Gibbs assumed, backed up several steps when he realized that he was neither priest nor a member of the Swiss Guards.  “S ì?”

Gibbs reached for his ID.  “Father, I’m Agent Gibbs. Cardinal Baggia?”

Baggia cocked his head to the side.  “You are the American His Holiness told me about.”

“Yes,” Gibbs gave the Cardinal a single nod. “May I come in?”

The Cardinal ’s eyes strayed towards the lone Guard before answering, “Yes, you may.” He backed away from the door, letting Gibbs enter the small apartment.

The room was set up similar to a hotel room, but with a few exceptions. In the space before him was a bed. Off to the side were two chairs and a desk. On the other side of the desk was a door that Gibbs surmised led to the bathroom. At the far wall was a large window with white curtains that had a weave fine enough that it let in light. Between the window and the desk, and bolted to the wall was a Crucifix.

“Here.” Gibbs handed his ID over for the Cardinal to inspect then sat down on one of the chairs.

The Cardinal sat down in the other before handing it back.  “What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?”

“Father, Your Eminence I’m investigating the disappearance of an American naval officer, Major Daniel Parker. I wanted to ask you what you remember of the events leading up to the explosion over the city.”

Baggia furrowed his brow in obvious confusion.

“He,” Gibbs continued, “also owned a car that was destroyed by a bomb under the Passetto. I believe your kidnapper was the unfortunate victim within the car.”

At Gibbs full explanation, Baggia shook his head.  “I am sorry, Agent. I was almost drowned shortly before these events you describe.” The elderly man rubbed his chest gently while closing his eyes.

“What do you remember?” Gibbs leaned forward while pulling out a small notepad and pencil.

“Like I said, there is not much of what you mentioned that I know about. Why are you here?”

Gibbs finally capitulated,  “His Holiness Pope Barnabas has asked me to investigate some of the events that led up to his election, especially concerning the helicopter and why there was a parachute in it.”

“I do not know what you are talking about with parachutes,” the Cardinal began. “What I do remember is from maybe the day before. Our kidnapper had a visitor whom he called _Janus_. The visitor also called our kidnapper _Mr. Grey._ ” He hesitated before continuing, “You know I think I recognize his voice….” The Cardinal shook his head then turned to the desk and opened the drawer. Dipping his hand into the space he pulled out a rosary and started fingering the beads. “It cannot be him…he counseled…,” he muttered while shaking his head.

Gibbs showed no reaction to the words as he wrote them down.  _ Could Cardinal Baggia be talking about the Pontiff? _ The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became to him. As Camerlengo, it would be easy to plan everything and not be caught at the same time. Of its own fruition, Gibbs ’ eyes strayed to the Crucifix on the wall.

Knowing where his attention was drawn towards, Baggia inclined his head and gave him a gentle smile.  “Do you mind if I ask you a question Agent Gibbs?”

Gibbs brought his attention back to the Cardinal, not entirely sure what the older man was inferring. He eventually nodded.

“Do you believe in God?”

The question posed to Gibbs was not what he was expecting. It also made him very uncomfortable. He did not come here for any type of confession.  “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he skirted the question.

The Cardinal looked as if he understood what Gibbs really meant, and let the question go unanswered.  “I am sorry I was not able to help you very much, Agent. It was a difficult time for everyone.”

“Father, what you have given me has helped. Any bit of information is valuable in solving a case, no matter how minor it may seem.” Yet, the Cardinal’s words, Gibbs felt they had a double meaning for him. He knew he should have realized that the subject would be broached, he just wasn’t expecting it.

“I would be most grateful if you could keep me informed of any developments,” Baggia asked as they rose to their feet.

Gibbs frowned.  “Father, I would, but I’m investigating a possible homicide. There are some things I am not allowed to discuss during the course of an investigation.”

“I do understand.” The Cardinal indicated the walls, “There are some things we cannot reveal.” As he opened the door Baggia continued, “I know it looks like I am dismissing you suddenly, it is that I am very tired. I recently was released from the ospedale.”

“Father, thank you for your time.” Gibbs nodded in respect to the older man and backed into the hall.

“Benedicat tibi Dominus et custodiat te1,” Baggia answered with his own nod.

  


  


McGee couldn ’t believe his luck in that he was able to stick his nose in different areas of the Vatican without a whole lot of question. “Abby would love to see this,” he muttered to himself. But she wasn’t here. He looked again to the map he had been given. The guard had been very kind, for it was a map in English of the various buildings including St. Peter’s Basilica. The agent had a fairly good idea that the map was for Cardinals and priests who were English speakers, or maybe just the tourists that were allowed in certain areas within the walls of the small nation.

Stepping into the sanctuary of St. Peter ’s Basilica, McGee’s mouth opened in awe at the sheer volume of the space. He looked up and around, trying to wrap his mind around the thought that he was now standing inside the largest church in the world. What made it more awe inspiring was that it looked as if he was the only one within the space.  _ Keep your mind on the investigation, _ he kept reminding himself as he forced his feet to move forward and deeper within the sanctuary.

Not knowing where to go at this point, and being overwhelmed by the building, McGee turned to his escort.  “Can you speak English?”

The guard looked at him for a moment before nodding his head.

“Then you know I’ve been allowed by the Holy Father to do some investigating.”

“Ja, Mr. McGee.”

The American agent hesitated for a moment while deciphering what the guard had told him.  “I need to go down into the crypt; I believe that is where the bomb was placed.”

The reaction he received was completely different from before. Up until now the guard had been quiet but amenable, now he looked on edge, his eyes darting in all different directions.  _ They _ _ ’re real guards…no soldiers, not just men who dress in renaissance clothing and parade around _ .  “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

The guard ignored him. When he caught the attention of a man in a civilian suit he strode over and they had a short conversation. The guard eventually came back.  “Where you want to go is off limits except for His Holiness and the Cardinals.”

McGee felt his heart sink. He really wanted pictures of the area.  “I-”

“But you are allowed.” The guard marched off towards the high altar in the middle of the sanctuary. Surrounding the steps that descended towards the entrance to the crypt were the ninety-nine flames and accompanying jars of oil that provided the fuel for each candle. The small flames provided an eerie glow once they were below the travertine floor of the sanctuary.

“Follow me, it is easy to get lost.”

Taking a sharp turn they entered into the highest level of the catacombs. McGee looked down the halls and the alcoves that held the tombs of earlier Popes. They worked their way down to the lower levels until they reached an ornately decorated chapel, one that was obviously very old. In the center, and behind the altar was an image that looked like an icon, but he couldn ’t be certain. “Is this the original foundations of the basilica?”

Before the guard could answer, a priest with a very annoyed look on his face caught up with them.  “ Chi sei tu e perch é sei qui? 2 ” he demanded.

McGee inadvertently cringed.  “Um…I can’t understand you.” 

In heavily accented English, the priest waved his hand toward the altar,  “Only His Holiness or Cardinals are allowed here.”

McGee cringed.  “I was given permission to take pictures.” He handed over his ID.

“Americano?”

“Yes.”

The priest turned to the Guard. There was a quick exchange in Italian and the priest frowned. When their conversation had come to an end, the priest grudgingly pointed back into the grottoes.  “This way.”

They went deeper into into the maze of tunnels. The walls and floors were lined with marble, while the plaster covered ceiling held frescoes whose colors were just as vibrant as when they were first painted. The next chapel they reached was separated by iron gates.  “This is the original altar of the Basilica. This is where St. Peter was crucified.”

McGee pulled out his camera and began taking pictures.

The three then entered through a doorway next to the chapel and emerged into a place that McGee had never seen before.  “Follow me or you will get lost here.”

McGee nodded, eyes wide. They soon stopped at an opening in the ancient stone floor that led towards several niches in the wall. McGee knelt down and snapped several pictures of the area. It clearly wasn ’t the same as what he looked at earlier, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to immortalize his trip with pictures. Kneeling down, his eyes caught something he thought was odd. The stone near the base of the opening was stained with something. Always ready, he pulled out a kit that tested for blood and managed to get a sample.

The trip back up to the floor of the basilica took less time than delving into the bowels of the church. He met up with Gibbs in the same general area where they had separated earlier, and headed back to the Embassy.

TBC...

1 The Lord bless you and keep you. - Latin

2 Who are you, and why are you here? - Italian


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 7  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 7** _

  


“I’m too old for this,” Gibbs muttered while sitting at the kitchen table with his first cup of afternoon coffee. Yesterday was too long, and he hadn’t had nearly enough sleep. And yet, Cardinal Baggia’s words still haunted him.

Noise from behind him alerted him that someone else had entered the kitchen. From the sound of it he surmised it to be Tony.  “DiNozzo,” Gibbs didn’t even look around, “I want you to head over to the Polizia to see if they’ve found anything more.”

Tony came around the table and sat across from Gibbs and nodded,  “Right. Is there anything in particular we’re looking for?”

“I’m hoping our missing naval officer shows up.”

“Ah yes, I understand.” Tony gave him a knowing look before rising to his feet and leaving him alone once more.

Gibbs turned and watched as the younger man disappeared through the door. There was a reason why Tony was on his team. When he had come back from Mexico, Tony could have easily taken the job in Naples, but he chose to stay in Washington. The younger agent may broadcast to the world a partying attitude, but he knew his stuff. Gibbs had trusted Tony with his life many times over the years.

Now alone, Gibbs pulled out the notes he made while interviewing the Cardinal. Everything he had heard and written down pointed directly to the Pontiff.  _ What am I going to do if he is guilty? _ The world ’s Catholics looked up to him. If Barnabas had been the driving force behind the conspiracy, then something was very wrong. Moreover, who was this Janus?

If Cardinal Baggia had recognized his voice, then the whole thing with the bomb, and parachute, was an elaborate inside job. If it was, then what was Barnabas ’ goal? Gibbs was not looking forward to possibly bringing down the Holy See.

“It would have been so much easier if Parker’s disappearance never did happen during the Conclave,” he muttered to himself.

Eventually rising to his feet, Gibbs gathered himself and went into the library they had appropriated for the time being. Ziva was still there and working intently on one of the available computers.  “I hope you have something for me,” he sad as he went over to an empty desk. He had given her more than enough time to gathered the information he wanted.

The Mossad Officer jumped at his voice. She had been so engrossed in her research that he somehow managed to take her completely by surprise. It was a rare occurrence and Gibbs let a smile cross his face before letting it drop.

“Most, if not all, of my information so far is public knowledge,” she started as she sifted through the paperwork on her desk. When she found what she was looking for, she continued, “Born in Ireland to Irish parents. Father died young of a heart attack. Was orphaned in a church bombing that coincided with the visit of an archbishop. The priest felt responsible for what happened to him, so he adopted him. When he graduated from the university he was conscripted into the Italian Air Force and became a helicopter pilot because he refused to carry a weapon. Married. Had the marriage annulled after his tour when he went into the seminary.”

“And who was this archbishop?”

“The former Pope Celestine.”

_ You have got to be kidding me, _ the seasoned agent shook his head.  _ I have no idea what to do. _ Just like his surprising Ziva, Gibbs ’ dismay was a rare occurrence. He was in a quandary. His job was to find out what happened to Major Parker, not accuse the Pope of an incredibly twisted conspiracy to grab the pontificate, and the power it contained. However, from everything he had seen so far, it all pointed to him as being the one that manipulated everything from the start.

“What is it?”

Gibbs looked up to see a curious expression on her face.  “You know I talked to Cardinal Baggia yesterday.” He pulled out his notes while trying to gather his thoughts. “Whoever kidnapped the Cardinals and set the bomb was on the inside.”

Ziva ’s eyes widened as she sputtered, “Who would do such a thing?”

“Someone who wanted the power of the Papacy for himself,” Gibbs said, his voice grim.

“So you think the Pope was behind everything?” Ziva sat down and shook her head. “Including Major Parker’s disappearance?”

“If he wanted to get rid of the kidnapper, he would need a car — who else but an innocent tourist in Rome here for the Conclave.” Ignoring her reactions, Gibbs opened his email program and sent off another message to the Pontiff, this time stating that he needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Shortly afterward, he received an answer back stating that he’d be available in about an hour, but for only ten to fifteen minutes to answer any questions that might have come up.

_ Oh, you _ _ ’re good. _ Gibbs looked over to Ziva for a moment, not entirely sure if he should bring her along or not. Deciding against it, he rose to his feet and said over his shoulder while heading out,  “Call me if you find anything that’s not public knowledge.” Ironically he prayed that there was information that would make him change his mind on who was guilty.

This time when Gibbs went to Vatican City he took a taxi. The driver let him out at the side entrance to the enclave. Stopping at the first individual in a plain dark suit, who also had an ear-piece, he identified himself and stated that he needed to see the Pontiff.

The man nodded and backed away while pressing his ear while saying something in Italian. After listening to the answer, he came back over and said with a heavy accent,  “Follow me.”

Gibbs was escorted into the same room from the day before. Barnabas was seated at his desk, but this time there was a desktop computer he was working with. With the Pontiff working on something it gave him the chance to look around the room. He always thought that you could understand a person better by looking at what they surrounded themselves with. And he suspected that Barnabas was no different. Behind him was a bookcase with glass doors. It looked as if it were full of theological treatises. One of the doors was open and it was obvious that a book had been pulled out. That book he suspected was sitting next to the computer. Ever so often Barnabas would glance to the book and then back to the monitor. You could hear the sound of fingers flying over the keyboard. Gibbs wasn ’t sure what the Pontiff was working on, but with what he knew now, it really didn’t matter.

Barnabas looked up when the door closed. He indicated one of the available chairs.  “Please, ave a seat.”

Gibbs shoes left no sound as he walked across the hardwood floor. The rugs strewn around and the dark furniture gave the office a more inviting appeal. Reaching a chair, he sat down and looked at Barnabas.

Barnabas typed for a few minutes more then finished. He glanced over to Gibbs,  “Your request looked very urgent. Have you found anything important?” The Pontiff moved the keyboard over to the side and clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk, letting his finger intertwine.

“Something very interesting.” Gibbs paused before continuing, “Why?”

Barnabas furrowed his brow in obvious confusion.  “What are you talking about?”

Gibbs leaned forward and lowered his voice,  “Oh, I think you do.”

Shocked realization slowly dawned on Barnabas ’ face before irritation replaced it. “So you believe  _ I _ was behind everything? ” he demanded.

As an answer, Gibbs pulled out his notes and answered while leaning back,  “It would have been too easy. As Camerlengo you could order things and move around the Vatican without question,  _ Janus _ . Cardinal Baggia also recognized your voice when you went to talk to the kidnapper the day before everything was set in motion. ”

The Pontiff ’s eyes narrowed at the accusations while letting a frown cross his face. Not giving Gibbs any answer, he put his keyboard back in place and started typing furiously, then moved the mouse around. “Do you really think you know what happened two weeks ago?”

In Barnabas ’ rising anger, his accent thickened. The Pontiff turned back to look at the American. “All I wanted to find out is why that helicopter had a parachute, and who put it there.” He turned his attention back to the computer and did more typing. “Get over here.”

Gibbs rose to his feet. He came around the desk all the while keeping a close watch on the Pontiff. The younger man was trained military so he knew what to expect. Everything was obvious, yet at the same time he felt guilty for accusing the Pontiff. Those same accusations he was ready to reveal to the world could easily pull down the entire Catholic Church, and that was something he was not looking forward to doing.

“Do you see that?” Barnabas pointed to a corner of the room. Following the direction Gibbs found a security camera pointed directly to them.

“We have those _everywhere_ in the Apostolic Palace. I spent the overall majority of my time in this building. The only time I was not in the palace was during services at the Basilica. Of the many masses that are celebrated, I lead two of them. The first is in Italian and the second is in Latin for the faithful. I would celebrate in Irish, but the Basilica is just a parish church. ”

Gibbs took a step back to give him a better ability to defend himself. The security camera could easily be a dummy.

Barnabas punched a key on the keyboard and then pushed away from the desk while turning his back on Gibbs.

The scene that played out before Gibbs was beyond disturbing in his estimation. He turned to look at the back of Barnabas ’ head. The Pope was deliberately not looking at the video.

_Barnabas stood by a massive fireplace with a hand on the mantle. He wore a simple black cassock with no colored trim. The glow the flames created danced light over him._

“ _Hello, Patrick,” a voice came from below the camera range. “It’s time.”_

“ _Fr. Simeon?” Patrick removed his hand and took a step back. “What are you doing in here? This is my….”_

_ It doesn _ _ ’t matter, at least not anymore.” The voice finally had a figure to attach it to. Another man dressed in a cassock, but with fuchsia trim appeared at the bottom of the screen. He joined Patrick at the fireplace. _

“ _I don’t understand. Is Cardinal Baggia—”_

_ Simeon pulled an iron out of the fire, its crossed end glowing red hot looked suspiciously like the keys on the Papal coat of arms. He contemplated the end of it for a moment before turning back to Patrick.  _ _ “It’s amazing what happens when you alter medication just a little bit.” _

“ _You? You killed Father?” Patrick balled his hands and they trembled. “Why?”_

_Simeon took a step towards Patrick with the iron now between them._

_ Patrick was forced to take a step back. He raised his hands to defend himself.  _ _ “Fr. Simeon?” _

“ _It doesn’t matter anymore. Not even St. Peter can save the church now, Patrick. Professor Langdon and Signora Vetra will never find the bomb in time.” He looked beyond Patrick. Another person appeared out of the shadows. “There is nothing that we haven’t infiltrated.”_

_ Patrick continued to back away, but ran right into the unknown individual. He grabbed Patrick _ _ ’s arms and then bound them behind his back. Patrick squirmed, then froze when he felt a gun above his hands. _

“ _You are the only one that now stands in the way of the creation of ultimate beauty.”_

_ Holding the iron off to the side, Simeon reached forward and ripped Patrick _ _ ’s cassock open. _

“ _No…Fr. Simeon…please….” Patrick’s eyes went wide in fear as he began struggling to free his hands while ignoring the gun._

_ Simeon pressed the red hot end of the iron into Patrick _ _ ’s chest. The sound of burning flesh was drowned out by Patrick’s cry of agony. The sound of the door being broken down happened and then gunshots were heard from under the video camera. First the priest Patrick was calling Simeon collapsed in a heap on the floor and then the other man soon followed. _

“ _Illuminati….” Even with his hands tide behind him, Patrick curled into a fetal position on the floor, protecting, or at least attempting to protect his chest._

Gibbs looked down towards Barnabas.  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“You were on a need to know basis, and you did not need to know about this.” Barnabas sighed. “Simeon counseled Camerlengo Strauss for years.” He pressed a key freezing the footage. Both Langdon and Vetra were kneeling over him. “If I had know it was Richter behind me, I could have been able to defend myself. I have not been in those rooms since that happened.”

There was nothing Gibbs could do except stop the video. When he was seated he watched as Barnabas was now rubbing his chest where the brand had touched his skin.  “Does it still hurt?”

“Not like it did, but it is still tender.” Barnabas put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his closed eyes with his fingers. For a moment he looked as if he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, and maybe he did. “At that point I knew Simeon was behind everything, I’m just not sure the extent of the conspiracy. He always seemed bitter towards science, but now I realize it’s that he was bitter towards the church. He managed to get Camerlengo Strauss to recuse himself of his position within the Conclave so he could become a candidate for the Pontificate. But if his plans had succeeded, then it would be a moot point.”

“And Richter?”

“He was head of security.”

Gibbs folded the small notebook and put it back into his pocket.  “How did you find the bomb in time?”

“I was in no condition to even think straight. Professor Langdon was the one that believed it was in the Crypt.”

“Believing him was a big gamble, one that you couldn’t afford to lose.”

“The church doesn’t gamble. And I wasn’t the one that brought him in. It was security.”

“Who is this Professor Langdon?”

Barnabas looked at him with a tired expression on his face.  “He is a symbolist from Harvard University. We had…issues…with him in the past.”

At the semi-revelation, Gibbs remembered the dispute and the ensuing uproar over him accusing the Catholic Church of hiding information for centuries.

“I know and understand he is going to finish his books, I just want him to be kind to us. Religion,” Barnabas indicated the wall with a wave of his hand, “like these walls, is man-made, faith is God given.”

For a moment, Gibbs had an unnerving feeling that Barnabas could see right through him and into his soul. Even if he wasn ’t behind the conspiracy, Gibbs realized that the Pontiff could easily manipulate the conversations around him if he so choose. When Barnabas broke eye-contact he glanced over to the clock on the wall, then began sifting through the paperwork on his desk. When he found what he was looking for, he handed it over.

“What is this?” Gibbs turned it upside down and then right-side up.

“The Vatican received this the day the four Cardinals were kidnapped. Then in the hours before the explosion, each Cardinal were branded with ambigrams of the different elements on the hour and then killed. I do not want to have this in here any more. So, take it.”

Several minutes later the door opened and a Cardinal entered.

“Agent,” Barnabas abruptly ended the meeting, “I have no more time for you today.” The order was softened by his tone of voice.

Gibbs nodded and rose to his feet.  “You’re Holiness,” he addressed the Pontiff and backed away from the desk. On his way to the door, he passed the cardinal. The older man gave him a cold look before dismissing him.

  


  


Tony looked around the Polizia headquarters. He had been there for some time already enjoying watching the women who worked for the police. All that ended when a report came in of a body floating in the Tiber River.

The unnamed individual was brought back to the morgue where the coroner started her examination. Not knowing if the victim was who he was looking for, Tony opened the folder he brought with him and looked at the service record for Major Parker once more. Putting on his best smile, he went over to one of the officers who had come a short time earlier. On her desk was a nameplate,  _ Giulia Stellani. _ Along with her computer she had a picture of her with two younger children, a boy and a girl.

“I miei figli1: Laura and Carlo,” her voice smiled whenever they were mentioned. “They are older now.”

Tony picked up the picture and cocked his head to the side and smiled.  _ Lovely family, though the boy looks oddly familiar. _ He set the picture down.  “Giulia,” he gave her his best smile. “Is there any way I can get over to the morgue?”

She looked up at Tony and gave him an amused, but tired smile. The Polizia uniform she wore covered her figure very well. The shirt was dark blue with gold buttons and a white sash that stretched from her shoulder to her opposite hip.  “Why would you want to go there, Antonio?”

“Well…,” Tony paused, “Because I’m hoping that Major Parker shows up.” He pulled out the service record and picture to hand over.

As she was looking at the picture her phone rank.  “Stellani,” her voice came across rather bored. For a moment she rolled her eyes then put her hand over the receiver and whispered, “Commandant.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment before the snapped open.  “S ì, signore.”

Giulia sat up and put the naval record on top of the picture so she could get a better look.  “Sì, sì. Okay,  sar ò lì con l’agente DiNozzo 2 , ” she finally answered and put the phone back in its cradle. 

“Antonio, it looks like we found what you were looking for.” 

TBC...

1 My children - Italian

2 I’ll be right there with Agent DiNozzo


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 8  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 8** _

  


_ If it isn _ _ ’t one thing, it’s another, _ Gibbs frowned as he headed back to the embassy. Videos could and were, on a regular basis, manipulated. However, the Pontiff ’s reaction to the video was something that could not be easily duplicated.

Gibbs pulled out his phone, curious if he had received any calls. So far the phone was dark. He looked at it closely then pushed the power button.  “Damn,” he muttered when he realized that he couldn’t turn it back on. It was only then when he realized that the battery was completely drained. “Just great.”

Entering the library, Gibbs dumped his things on the table and rummaged around for his charger. As he was plugging the phone in he could feel himself being watched.  “I hope you have something for me,” he called to no one in particular.

“The Polizia believe they found Major Parker’s body,” Tony called from somewhere behind him.

As Gibbs turned around to look at the younger agent, he raised his eyebrow. Without missing a beat Tony continued,  “The body is in the morgue at the Polizia headquarters. He was pulled out of the river late in the morning.”

“That’s not good enough, DiNozzo.”

“A bullet to the back of his head destroyed most of his face including all his teeth.”

“Then get a DNA sample to send to Abbs.”

“Already have it.” Tony pulled out a small evidence container with the sample sealed inside. “They thought it was a random mugging gone wrong, until they found money in the victim’s wallet — along with a military ID.”

“Parker’s?”

“Yes.”

Gibbs closed his eyes and signed. _Perfect, just perfect._ “Get it to Abbs ASAP,” he said out loud. With the possibility of Parker dead execution style, it put a completely new spin on last two weeks events.

As soon as Tony disappeared out the door, Ziva commented for the first time,  “He could have easily hired someone to kill Parker.” She picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it before continued, “I found several wire transfers from banks in and around Dublin, Ireland in the days and hours leading up to the explosion over the city. And there is official records of him visiting the country several months ago.”

“Ziver, he’s not guilty.” Gibbs looked up to see a calculated look on the Mossad Officer’s face. “I’ve interrogated people long enough to know when he or she is telling the truth.” Reaching into his pocket he retrieved his notebook. Opening it, he continued, “The four Cardinals that were kidnapped? He was the fifth one on the list. The only reason why he’s alive today is because security got to him in time.”

He came over and stopped in front of Ziva.  “I want you to check up on a Fr. Simeon, he was one of the archbishops. See what you can find out about him.”

“Right,” she nodded as she gathered her things and left the room.

Gibbs left the room and went into the computer room.  “McGee?”

“Yes, Boss?” the junior agent popped his head out from behind a computer monitor.

“What do you know about the Illuminati?”

McGee ’s eyes grew wide while his mouth opened in surprise, “Illuminati?”

“Yes, McGee, the Illuminati. What do you know about them?”

McGee typed a few minutes and nodded before answering,  “Well, Boss, they were a group of scientists during the late renaissance that were intent on studying science, and rejected conventional Catholic Church doctrine for more open and modern thinking.”

Gibbs came over to see what McGee had on his monitor. On one side was what looked like a bunch of stones and a hole in the ground, and the other was a search engine with  _ Illuminati _ on it, and text below.  “Are they still around?”

“No. Not from what I can see. Shortly after they formed, the Catholic Church destroyed them.

Gibbs pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over.  “This is why.”

McGee unfolded the paper and looked at the image printed on it.  “What is this?” he muttered as he turned it over and looked at it upside down.

“The Vatican received it the day the four Cardinals were kidnapped. And each Cardinal that was killed was branded with ambigrams of the different elements.”

“Earth, fire, air, water…whomever designed this would have known about Illuminati symbolism.” The younger agent looked down for a moment, “Abby knows a whole lot more about the group than I do. I would ask her.”

“Which I plan to,” Gibbs muttered as he looked at the mounting information. All the evidence still pointed to Barnabas, but he also was beginning to look too obvious. It was almost as if the society, if it was still around, was trying to pull down the Catholic Church by implicating its most visible member.

Gibbs left the library and headed back over to the communications room. Looking at the clocks on the wall he made sure that he wasn ’t calling in the middle of the night, although if their main forensic scientist was fully engrossed in her work then she could still be there at 2 AM. By the time he had the earphones on, the communications feed had connected. “Abbs?” he asked.

Abigail Scuito, better known as Abby was in front of her computer with her white lab coat on hiding some sort of black outfit.  _ “Gibbs?”  _ Her face lit up accompanied by a large smile. It didn ’t sound like she had any extra caffeine yet.

“I want to know what you know about the Illuminati,” he answered.

“ _Illuminati?”_ She paused as she thought for a moment. _“Well there are several songs and different computer games with the word illuminati in the title.”_

“That’s not what I’m wanting. What about the group connected with the Catholic Church?”

“ _Oh,_ _ **that**_ _illuminati. Well,_ _”_ Abby looked off screen for a moment before bringing her attention back, _“It’s stated that Galileo was a founding member of the society._ She began pacing back and forth, her voice rising and falling on how close she was to the microphone. _“When the Church found out, they were put down. It soon became a secret society. Rumor has it that they worshiped right under the nose of the Pope, although no one has ever found their temple to science.”_ She turned back to the camera, _“Is this why you’re in Naples?”_

“Rome actually. Abbs,” Gibbs continued, “is there any hint to say that they would come back when they thought the time was right?”

“ _Come back?”_ Abby looked at him in confusion. _“Not that I know of.”_ Her mouth dropped open when realization struck. _“Do you mean to tell me that the Illuminati were behind the explosion over Rome during the Conclave?”_

Gibbs could already see the wheels turning in her head. If anything, Abby was a big conspiracy buff. Roswell, Kennedy, you name it, she knew everything about it. Now she had another to add to her list.  “Abbs, I need you to run some DNA samples through the military database.”

“ _What does this have to do with the Illuminati?”_ she asked, clearly confused.

“Because, our missing naval officer’s car was destroyed in a car bomb, and it’s becoming obvious that it’s connected with the events in Rome with the Conclave.” For a moment he wasn’t sure he was able to give her a clear enough explanation of the mess he was having to deal with.

“ _No way…,”_ her voice held awe.

Hoping to see if he could stop the inevitable, he continued,  “I need you to stay where you are.”

“ _But Gibbs,”_ she whined. _“You need me there.”_

“No,” he countered. _I don_ _’t want to argue with you._

When she realized she wasn ’t going to get her way, she grudgingly capitulated.  _ “It would be better if I was there,” _ she muttered as she disconnected the line.

Not liking how the whole conversation went, Gibbs made another call, this time to the director. As soon as the coffee-skinned man appeared on the screen, he put forth his request.  “I need to speak with a Professor Robert Langdon from Harvard.”

“ _Who is this individual?”_

Gibbs gave a brief summary of the events since he last spoke to Vance, and the emergence of what was a hypothetical, or nonexistent group that was behind everything.  “Vatican Security actually brought him in to see if he could figure out what was going on, and stop whatever it was from happening.”

“ _Why would The Vatican bring him in? Wasn’t he the one a short time ago accused the Catholic Church of hiding things?”_

“Yes, and I believe they brought him in because he doesn’t have a vested interest with them.”

Vance seemed to mull over his words before answering,  _ “I’ll see what I can do. If anything it’ll be tomorrow.” _

  


  


Tony walked out of the Embassy and looked down both sides of the street. He slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the evidence container. For a moment he wondered if it would be any faster if the sample was processed here in Rome and the results facts to Abby rather than sending the whole thing by courier half way across the world. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his list of contacts until he found what he was looking for.

“Giulia, my dear,” he started with a smile in his voice. “Can I ask you for a favor?” He paused for a moment, listening to her complain about just how busy she was. 

“It’s not about that,” he turned serious. “I was hoping to see if you have a forensics lab within or connected to your headquarters…You’re already processing the sample?” A large smile spread across his face. “You have no idea how much this helps…Yes, I’m outside the embassy right now…see you shortly.”

The car that eventually pulled up was a small, black Fiat.  _ Anything but that, _ he grimaced.  _ Of all the cars available in Italy, why did she have to get that one? _

“What’s wrong?” Giulia asked as he buckled himself in.

“Oh nothing,” he smiled, hiding his discomfort.

“I do not believe you one bit, Antonio,” she looked out of the corner of her eye towards him before pulling out into traffic.

“You don’t want to know,” he brushed the whole thing off. It’s not that he hated the brand, it’s that his father never thought highly of the company.

“You wanted to know about our crime laboratory?” she pronounced the last word in the English fashion.

“Yes, especially since your people are already processing the samples.” Tony pulled out the small evidence container he had with him and debated on what to do with it. They remained quiet for the rest of the way to Polizia headquarters.

Tony had been in the Polizia di Stato headquarters enough times to find his way around without getting completely lost. Feeling the evidence container once again, he finally decided to send it to Abby by courier. That way, if the sample that the Polizia was using was compromised in some way, there would be a backup.

As he moved through the building, he listened to the Italian the officers were using. His family had been in America long enough to have dropped the old language completely. Sometimes it bothered him not knowing understanding it, and this was one of those times. Turning, he saw someone in a lab coat and talking to Giulia.  _ Must be their forensic scientist _ . He headed back towards the two. As he neared the scientist handed Giulia a piece of paper that looked suspiciously like the reports that Abby created once she had processed a tissue sample from Ducky.

The scientist went back to his lab leaving Giulia in the middle of the hall. When she looked up, she jumped back a few steps.  “Oh, it’s you. You’re just in time Antonio.”

She handed him the report. It was almost the same as what he ’d seen before, except it was all in Italian.

“How long will you be here?” Giulia asked as they started heading back down the corridor. 

“I’m not sure at this point. It depends on how quickly we can catch our suspect and solve the case.” Tony gave her a sheepish smile. He was on a tight schedule and had to get back to the Embassy before the daily courier left for the States. It almost seemed like overkill, but when dealing with evidence it was always better to be safe than sorry.

“Stellani,” someone called from behind them.

Apparently he was someone important to Giulia, for she turned and nodded,  “Sì, signore?” 

For a time, Tony waited patiently through the unknown conversation. It sounded like orders of some sort. When it was finished, Giulia turned back to him and commented,  “That was the Commandant. There is something I need to do, but I can drop you off at the Embassy.”

“That would be nice,” he muttered.

The trip back to the Embassy was just as quiet as the earlier trip. This time Giulia pulled her Fiat to the side of the building and set the parking break.

“I’d like to see you later after your shift is over,” Tony gave her his best smile.

Giulia frowned.  “I am busy and there are also I miei figli.” She seemed to gather her thoughts. “I was married, but it was annulled. I do not want that to happen again,” her voice held hurt.

Instead of a flirtatious smile, he changed it to a compassionate one.  “That stinks, but I do understand. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Tony nodded as he climbed out of the Fiat. He watched as she backed the car out of the parking lot and merged back into the traffic.  _ Whoever it was, she _ _ ’s still in love with him, _ Tony shook his head and went back inside.

  


TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 9  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 9** _

Ever since the election Barnabas ’ day always started the same way. After morning prayers and breakfast, he had his scheduled meeting with his doctor, Alberto Virgulin, and then celebrate Mass in the chapel at Casa Santa Marta for the men and women who lived and worked in Vatican city. A fully functional medical suite, within his apartments was in stark contrast to the artwork prominently displayed on the walls in the rest of his personal rooms.

As he came limping into the suite, Alberto was already there, he set a folder down on the side table, and next to a computer. There was also a bowl with a clean cloth next to it. This wouldn ’t be a full exam like the first one, which Barnabas was eternally grateful.

“Your Holiness, I see you are walking much easier, but slower.” The doctor gave him a critical look.

“My leg and ankle still hurt, but not like last week.” Barnabas moved over to the exam table and hobbled up onto the footstool so he could sit down on the table.

After checking Barnabas ’ lungs Alberto asked, “And your sleep? How has it been lately?”

“Restless.”

“Before we discuss your sleeping habits, I need to see your burn.” With a wave of his hand, the doctor indicated that he wanted Barnabas to open the robe he was wearing.

Knowing what was coming, Barnabas untied the belt and loosened the material so it could slide from his shoulders. Underneath he only wore a pair of shorts. Bruises covered mot of his body, but instead of them being a vivid purple they were all now more of a sickly greenish hue. A large bandage covered most of his chest.

“This will…,” Alberto started as he leaned in and reached for one of the corners.

“I know. It’s going to hurt,” Barnabas finished the sentence.

Starting at the corner the doctor removed the bandage in one long pull.

“Ouch.”

Alberto looked up.  “You do understand that removing the tape hurts more than the burn.” He looked at the underside of the bandage for any discharge. The tape portion had some hair stuck to it.

“Good.”

Turning around, Alberto reached for the cloth and bowl on the table. Inside the bowl was mild soapy water. Using the edge of the cloth he washed the now mostly healed burn. When he was finished he placed a mild antiseptic ointment with medication infused with it on the Pontiff ’s chest. He took a step back and cocked his head to the side, then leaned in close again. “Good news, Your Holiness. The outer skin is just about healed, and the deeper levels should be close behind. Because of your refusing to have it inspected shortly after it happened, there will be a permanent scar.”

The doctor placed a new bandage on the scar.  “This should be the last one.” He backed away again, but this time indicated that he wanted to see Barnabas’ ankle.

The Pontiff had pulled a leg muscle during his descent that masked his ankle injury. The major sprain was immediately diagnosed and he began treatment on it. Removing the wrap the ankle was still swollen, but not like it had been.  “I want you to continue to keep your ankle raised as much as possible, and only walk when necessary.”

“Easy for you to say,” Barnabas muttered.

Alberto looked up only to see annoyance on the Pontiff ’s face.

“Before all this happened I would run several kilometers every day.”

The doctor countered,  “Do  _ not _ start that unless I give you my permission. As your personal physician it is my duty to make sure you remain healthy. ”

Barnabas nodded. He was actually glad for the limitations to his activity. Ever since the explosion he never seemed to get enough rest and was constantly exhausted.  _ It has to be the workload. _ Sitting back up, he pulled the rob back on and secured it in place.  “And the blood tests, what about those?”

Alberto reached for the folder and flipped it open to look at the paperwork inside.  “Other than your elevated cholesterol levels, everything looks to be in normal range.”

“Good.” Barnabas whispered. Alberto’s answer was some of the best news he had heard in a long time.

“Now, I want to see how much weight you can put on your ankle before it starts hurting.”

_ This is new _ . Nodding, Barnabas slowly eased off the exam table and let himself down to the marble floor. Misjudging the distance, he dropped the last six inches. There was a sharp crack followed by an intense stab of pain that radiated up from his badly sprained ankle. His leg couldn ’t sustain his weight anymore and his knees buckled.

Alberto scrambled and managed to reach Barnabas before he hit the floor.  “Not good, Your Holiness.” He shook his head as he helped the Pontiff back up onto the exam table.

“No,” Barnabas hissed through gritted teeth. Through the pain it now felt as if his anklebones were grinding against each other.

“Do not move. I will get a wheelchair.”

“For what?” Barnabas panted as the doctor disappeared through the door.

A few minutes later, Alberto reappeared with a wheelchair,  “To take another look at your ankle. Whatever you do, do not put any weight on your foot.” 

Moving beside the Pontiff, he draped Barnabas ’ arm over his shoulder and supported the man’s weight as he helped him to the wheelchair. Once he was settled, they moved into the next room. This one held a single stretcher in the center and equipment was hanging from the ceiling, while monitors were clustered around the head of the table. A med tech came through another door and came over to help Alberto get Barnabas up on the exam table. His ankle was already showing signs of increased damage. The rest of the procedure went quickly and soon he was back in the original examination room.

“Will I have a cast?” Barnabas was already trying to figure out how he was going to celebrate Mass with either crutches or a wheelchair.

The tech came back in and accessed the x-ray images on the monitor that was against the wall.  “Grazie, Pietro.” Alberto stood in front of the screen examining the images that in earlier times would have been printed out and put on a light box. Barnabas leaned to the side and saw the fractured bones in his ankle. “Yes, your Holiness, you are going to need a hard cast for the first six weeks. Afterward, a soft cast can replace it.”

“Just great,” Barnabas muttered. “Just one more thing.”

“You have been walking too much.” Alberto turned around and folded his arms. “At the rate you’re going, it is only a matter of time before your injuries catch up to you.”

The Pontiff gave what sounded like a harrumph before letting out a sigh.  “How long is this going to take?” His morning schedule he knew was thrown out the window now.

“No more than an hour at most, Your Holiness.” Alberto turned back around and picked up the receiver, “Pietro, I need you to bring the supplies for a hard ankle cast.” Not waiting for a reply, he placed the receiver back in its cradle then went back over to Barnabas. “Let me help you back on the exam table.” Soon Barnabas was out of the chair and up on the table.

Less than an hour later Barnabas slowly limped out of the medical suite, leaning on one crutch, he refused to use two because it made him feel completely crippled.

“Your Holiness?” Strauss’ voice came from behind. “What happened?”

Barnabas didn ’t answer until he was back in his living room and settled in an available chair. With a groan, he managed to prop his foot on a piece of furniture and wiggled his toes that stuck out of the hardened end of the cast. “My ankle finally broke. I have several fractured bones. I’m stuck with this,” he indicated the cast, “for at least six weeks. After that it will be replaced by a soft cast for who knows how long.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I have no idea what I’m going to…,” his voice faded as he turned to look out the window.

“God will provide,” Strauss answered with a smile.

“He always does, doesn’t he?” For the first time in what seemed like forever Barnabas felt that calming presence he always treasured. Even though he was still exhausted, he wrapped that presence around him. Everything would be all right.

  


  


Dr. Robert Langdon looked at the back of the head of the man driving the car. This was the first time he had been in the nation ’s capitol, which he thought was rather ironic. Several hours earlier he had a visitor. There was no sign letting him know what organization he might be a member of. The only thing he could think of was that he was in some type of law enforcement because of the authority he exuded.

“ _I need you to come with me, Professor Langdon,” the man ordered as he pulled out his badge and showed it._

_ The seal was from the US Navy.  _ _ “Why would the Navy want my services?” Even though it had been two weeks since Robert had arrived back at Harvard, he still couldn’t stop thinking of the events that transpired. _

“ _I am not allowed to speak about open cases.”_

The declaration made the Professor very curious. He had that type of personality that he needed, better yet, craved order around him. Anything out of place made him examin why it was so. It felt like once again he was being sent off on one of those wild goose chases. What happened in Rome still bothered him to some extent. At least the new Camerlengo ’s words still resonated in his mind.  _ Religion is flawed because man is flawed _ . It sounded as if finally the Catholic church had admitted the truth about human nature. Most, he found, were hypocritical, which had pushed him away from any type of organized religion and into Gnosticism.

He was drawn out of his musing when the car pulled into a parking space across from the entrance of a nondescript redbrick building. A simple monument sign was the only thing that stated where they were.  “Naval Criminal Investigative Service,” he muttered as they passed by the sign and entered the building.

Once through the metal detectors, and a visitor badge in place, they entered a bank of elevators and Robert soon found himself on another floor. Only having Harvard and Vatican security to draw on, he found the room to have an interesting setup. There were small groups of desks separated by cube walls.

“This way, Dr. Langdon.”

Nodding, he followed his guide up an open staircase to the upper floor, and then into an unmarked doorway. There was a woman at a desk. She looked up at Langdon for a moment then asked,  “Is this Dr. Langdon?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll let Director Vance know that he’s arrived.”

His guide nodded and left the room, leaving Robert alone. He turned and looked around to see where he could sit down. He would be meeting with the senior director. By the time he asked himself  ‘why’ he was being escorted through a door and into another room.

The man that sat behind the desk ’s skin tone easily matched his morning coffee. When the door closed, Robert turned around and realized he was by himself again.

“Dr. Langdon, please have a seat,” the directed indicated a chair.

“Can I ask why I’m here?” Robert asked as soon as he was settled.

“In a moment,” Vance answered as he picked up a phone and dialed a number. “Is it ready yet?” the Directed paused for a moment, listening, before nodding. “Good. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He set the phone back in its cradle and continued, his fingers intertwined while letting his elbows rest on the desk. “You were in Rome recently.”

“Yes…does this have anything to do with what happened with the…election?”

“In a way.” Vance rose to his feet and indicated the door. “If you will come with me? I have an agent that needs to talk to you.”

_ This is interesting, _ Robert mused as he followed the Director out of the office and back into the corridor. Instead of going down the stairs, they continued on the second floor and passed by a wall that had a large sign that said MTAC.

After passing through security protocols, the entered a dark room. On the far wall was the seal of the US Navy. The only light came from strategically placed red lighting around the room. They went down the shallow stairs and stopped in the middle.

“Put this on,” Vance gave him an earpiece with a microphone attached to it.

With a nod from the Director the wall before them lit up, and Langdon found he was now looking at an older individual with grayish brown hair who also had an earpiece with a microphone. A window off to the side was dark.

“Gibbs, I wanted to tell you that State gave its permission,” Vance said by way of introduction. He paused while glancing towards Langdon, “And this is Dr. Robert Langdon.”

“ _Good. Professor Langdon, what do you know about the Illuminati and why were you here in the first place?”_

“Is he always this direct?” Robert muttered. “Are you in Rome?” he raised his voice. If the agent was, then it was late in the evening. Gibbs gave him an annoyed look before nodding.

Before Langdon could answer, the door behind them burst open and there was a rush of footsteps. The two men in the center turned to see who the intruder was. She had black hair that was held in place by ponytails, and she wore a white lab coat.

“Gibbs,” she practically yelled to the screen.

“He can’t hear you,” Vance frowned as he handed her a headset. 

“ _What is it Abbs?”_ Gibbs asked, giving her his full attention when she got the headset in place.

“It’s a perfect match.”

A thoughtful look crossed the agent ’s face before he nodded,  _ “Good. Thanks Abbs.” _

“You got it,” she answered with a large smile then pulled the headphones off and hurried out of the MTAC to where she came from.

“Who was that?” Langdon pointed his thumb over his shoulder and towards the door that had just shut.

Vance shook his head,  “Our lead forensic scientist, Abigail Scuito.”

“ _Sir, make sure she stays here.”_

Langdon turned to look back at the large screen and found the agent pinching the bridge of his nose.

“ _We need her in her lab, not flying halfway across the world.”_ Gibbs hesitated for a minute before focusing his attention back to the symbolist. _“Do you remember the car bomb under the Passetto?”_

“Yes. The kidnapper was in it. I couldn’t wait though because even though he wasn’t on the list I knew the Camerlengo would be next.”

Gibbs glanced over to Vance before continuing,  _ “The car was owned by Major Parker.” _

“Is that what Abby was talking about?” Vance asked while indicating the door.

“ _Yes, the Polizia pulled a body out of the river the day before. They got a DNA sample and processed it. I had Abbs run it against our database. Major Parker was killed execution style and dumped in the river. There were also wire transfers to accounts owned by the kidnapper from several Irish banks in the days leading up to the kidnapping and conclave. I know videos can be altered, but I do believe that the Pontiff is innocent in this mess.”_

At Gibbs ’ words Langdon’s jaw dropped. “Agent, I found him shortly after the ‘incident,’ and I also saw the video. I can guarantee you that whatever you saw was real. And it was not a pretty sight.”

The rest of the interview went quickly, and Langdon soon found himself staying at one of the local hotels. No telling how long he would be needed. Two weeks ago, he thought it was over with, but he now realized it could only be the beginning.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 10  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 10** _

  


Barnabas woke with a start. Cracking open one eye, he glanced around the darkened room. In the gloom, not much was visible, and the heavy curtains blocked out what little light that came from the outside. The only thing that broke the oppressive silence was the constant ticking from the clock on the wall. He brought his eyes back around to the foot of the bed and the contraption that his physician had set up several hours earlier. It was a sling that held his ankle about a foot above the covers. Every time one of his assistants came it to ice down the cast, it woke him up. It didn ’t help that he still wasn’t sleeping well since his Father’s death. Just the anxiety alone was enough to give him insomnia. The only time he did manage to sleep was when he fell into bed from exhaustion.

Then there was the workload. Even though it had been only two weeks since the election, he already felt overloaded and burned out. Not good for someone in his position.

Slowly sitting up he felt the exhaustion wash over him again, but this time he also felt a sharp stab of pain and nausea. In all his years, even in the military, he had never felt this before. At that moment he realized that something was very wrong, and it wasn ’t just exhaustion he was dealing with.

Gasping for breath, he managed to drag himself out of the bed and stumble towards the bathroom.  _ Maybe if I get something to drink, everything will go back to normal _ . Ironically, the ankle cast gave him some stability, but the weight made his foot too heavy to lift in his weakened state. He tripped over the lip between the wood floor and the linoleum of the bathroom and collapsed to the floor.

From far away he heard the door open and someone call,  “Your Holiness?” 

The sound of his movements came near and he heard a gasp of something. Panic maybe? Barnabas wasn ’t sure.

His eyesight faded in and out, but his hearing remained, sort of. He had this odd glimpse of two men leaning over him and doing something, then placing a mask over his nose and mouth. The sound of a siren droned in the background. His vision cleared and there were more standing over him as his vision faded once more.

“ _We’re loosing him.”_

“ _Again.”_

A woman ’s cry of anguish and then her voice changed to the  _ Hail Mary _ .

Barnabas ’ vision cleared again and he found himself looking down at several doctors and nurses working frantically over him then it stretched and became a maelstrom of his own memories, both good and bad.

When the colors finally subsided Barnabas found himself in standing before not only the Christ but the Virgin Mother. He dropped to his knees in adoration.

_It is not your time, child._

“But….”

_Your work is not yet complete. Trust Georg. Trust Wilhelm, and Seamus, they have your best interests at heart, and will be by your side._

“I don’t want to go back, please, no…,” Barnabas begged.

_Have no fear my son. Everything will be all right, and you will have the strength and healing to finish the work you have been called to do. Remember I am with you always._

He felt a hand touch the top of his head and then brush down the side of his face before his vision darkened once again.  “Please, no….”

  


  


The sound of a single tone permeated the emergency room. It signified death. The lead doctor dropped his head and closed his eyes. Everything they tried wouldn ’t work. Barrnabas' heart was in a state of spasm and they couldn’t get it back into any sort of coherent rhythm that would give them time. Eventually it stopped altogether and they all knew it was the end. The man on the table before them, the Pope, the Pontiff was gone to his Father. Several nurses were already in tears.

“Call the Camerlengo.”

A nurse left the room to make the dreaded call.

Just as they were about to disconnect the heart monitor, it registered a heartbeat.

Everyone left in the room stared at the monitor as another beat was registered.  “ Mio Dio 1 , ” the lead doctor breathed in shock. He crossed himself as the heartbeats came at a more steady pace. From there he went to work. Barnabas was then hooked up to life support, that way his heart would have time to gain the strength it would need to keep him alive.

  


  


Barnabas had no idea how much time had passed when he began hearing the humming of machinery, along with a steady electronic beeping sound.  _ No _ _ …. _ He felt tears leak out of the corner of his eyes.  “Please, no,” he mouthed the words.

There was sound from somewhere nearby.  “Tua Santità?”

He heard the words, but couldn ’t understand their meaning.

“Please….”

There was more movement and then a bright light shown into his eyes. He jerked back.  “Scusate Tua Santità.”

Not understanding what was going on, Barnabas let himself be pulled back down into that welcoming darkness.

  


Camerlengo Strauss sat next to the bed where Barnabas lay unconscious. It was a relief that after the scare everyone had a short time earlier the Pontiff looked to be making a miraculous recovery.

The problem was every time Barnabas came close to consciousness up he acted like he couldn ’t understand what people were saying. Strauss had read somewhere that for some who were polyglots that after a major trauma they reverted back to their first language. Until he knew for certain, he would remain here and try some of the languages that he knew that the Pontiff could speak and understand.

Then there was the tears. The doctor that brought him back stated that Barnabas had begun weeping.

Barnabas let out a soft groan and then muttered something unintelligible. Wilhelm could tell it was no related to English or any of the Roman languages.  _ I wonder _ _ …. _ He frowned then picked up the phone. If there was anyone within the curia that could answer his question, it would be Clemente Costello.

The call was picked up after the third ring.  _ “Hello?” _ the Cardinal ’s voice was rough from sleep.

“Clemente, this is Wilhelm.”

“ _It’s one in the morning. Why are you calling at this time?”_

Wilhelm pressed his lips together.  “I received a call from Santa Maria over two hours ago. His Holiness was rushed to the hospital because of an apparent heart attack.”

“ _He…what?”_

“He’s alive.”

Clemente now sounded wide awake, _“Thank the Good Lord. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to call for another Conclave after only two weeks. How is he?”_

Wilhelm looked to the prone figure on the bed.  “He looks to be recovering. His Holiness has been speaking, more like muttering, but I cannot understand what he is saying. Do we have any in the curia that might understand Irish?”

“ _Yes, one of his personal secretaries that came with him when he transitioned from Camerlengo to the Pontificate. Fr. Seamus O’Hanlon. I’ll call him.”_

“Thank you, Clemente.”

  


  


Barnabas felt himself floating.  _ Where am I _ . He tried turning his head, but it felt stuck in place.

“Don’t worry, Your Holiness, everything is going to be all right,” he heard as if from a great distance.

For the first time Barnabas could understand what was happening around him. He opened his eyes and tried to focus them. Everything was still a blur.  “Please?”

There were more words spoken, but they seemed muffled. The tone turned harsh.  “Please,” he muttered again.

“Your Holiness, don’t.” Even though he could understand the voice, it was not his Camerlengo. _Trust Wilhelm, trust Georg_ _…. Seamus?_ The words from the Christ himself had that calming effect on his confusion. _Everything will be all right. Have no fear._ He drifted off to sleep once again for once more at peace with what was happening around him.

When Barnabas finally opened his eyes looked around the room. It was the medical suite in the Apostolic Palace. There was one window and it let him know that it was dark outside. He sluggishly turned his head and saw a monitor. The lines that moved across it were hypnotizing in his groggy state. Eventually he got bored with the lines and he slowly turned his head to look at the other side of the room.

There was a conversation somewhere nearby. When it stopped Alberto appeared in the doorway followed by his ever present secretary, Fr. Seamus O ’Hanlon.

“What happened?” Barnabas was shocked at how weak he sounded, even to himself. Alberto hesitated and turned to the priest beside him, they spoke for a moment. “Please, I need to know what happened.”

Instead of the doctor answering it was Fr. Seamus.  “You had a heart attack, Your Holiness. You  _ died _ in the emergency room at Santa Maria, but you came back. ”

_Have no fear._

Barnabas ’ eyes widened. “I saw Him. I saw the Christ. I saw the Virgin Mother,” he breathed. “I was sent back.” Tears filled his eyes once again and they leaked out of the corner of his eyes.

Fr. Seamus crossed himself.

Barnabas ’ mind seemed to catch up with what the priest had said.  _ Heart attack? _

“Have no fear, Your Holiness. We,” he indicated Alberto, “shall talk when you are stronger.”

Just being awake had tired him more than he realized. Barnabas let his eyes close of their own fruition and he drifted off to sleep once again.

 

Some time later Barnabas heard voices. He opened his eyes once again. It was still dark.  _ How long have I been here? Heart attack? _

“Has it been decided on who will celebrate Mass at Santa Marta?”

“For now,” it was Clemente Costello that answered, “We can both celebrate it. I do think we need to suspend the General Audience, along with the Angelus Domini until His Holiness is strong enough to come and be among the faithful.”

“Yes, I believe that would work for the best.”

“Please,” Barnabas whispered as he turned his head towards the two voices. “Don’t speak as if I’m not in the room.”

“Your Holiness?” Strauss came forward, eyes wide. The Camerlengo was wearing trousers and a clerical shirt, while Clemente wore a plain, black cassock. The former came near and leaned over to kiss Barnabas’ hand even though he didn’t have his ring on.

“Welcome back, Your Holiness.” Clemente had a smile on his face.

“How long have I been here?”

“Here?” Wilhelm indicated the walls.

“Yes.”

“You were transported back here a little more than an hour ago. Your heart attack happened at about,” he looked up at the clock on the wall, “2200; seven hours ago.”

Alberto walked into the room, obviously tired.

“Doctor?”

“Your Holiness, it is a miracle that you’re alive.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me of your symptoms.”

Barnabas paused, his strength already waning.  “I thought I was suffering from exhaustion.”

“Apparently not.” Alberto went over to the computer and logged in. “Do you know if you have any family members that have suffered from heart problems?”

“I have no idea. I barely remember my father, and my mother was killed in an explosion.” Barnabas glanced over to his camerlengo.

The Cardinal had an amused look on his face. He raised his hands in supplication as if to say that it ’s not his fault, but continued to smile when Barnabas glared at him.

“Not only are you very lucky, but your heart has made a miraculous recovery. The MRI showed no areas that are damaged. It could have, should have been much worse.” Alberto picked up a chart and came back over to the bed before continuing, “I also believe your recovery will proceed faster since you have been active.” 

“What about Mass?” How was he to celebrate Mass while chained to a bed?

“You are not to even get out of this bed until I feel you are strong enough. Let either the Camerlengo or the Cardinal Bishop celebrate Mass.” Alberto’s tone softened, “It is my duty to make sure you are healthy. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Your body is trying to tell you that you need rest.”

For once Barnabas readily agreed with Alberto. When he had first been given the position of Camerlengo he remembered being overwhelmed at the responsibilities the position entailed. He was close to driving himself into the ground when his Father convinced him to take time to relax. Only when he actively started running again, and with the Swiss Guards, did he understand the wisdom of the older man ’s words. He soon became good friends with all the guards, and they enjoyed having a running partner in the curia.

Yet in the past month with  _ Sede Vacante _ , and then the Conclave, he had no time for himself, and no time to run. He always felt that in that 10th kilometer it created in his mind a cathartic state similar to the times he had with …. His mind rushed back to her and his marriage and ensuing annulment.  _ How is she doing? How is _ _ …. _

Alberto escorted the two priests out of the room, while letting in two nuns. Barnabas suspected they were from Santa Maria.  “Do not worry Your Holiness,” one came near and sat in a chair next to his bed. Everything will be taken care of.”

“Thank you.” Barnabas felt his eyelids drooping. In just this short time awake he felt as if all his reserves had been drained out of him.

  


  


It was 6 am and Gibbs had barely gotten any sleep. Professor Langdon had offered to fly back over to Rome on the next flight out of Reagan National to help with the investigation, but he told the symbolist emphatically that he did not need any help. He had more than enough with the agents under him, and he didn ’t need one more to have to keep track of. Reaching for his mug of coffee, he went to take a sip then looked into it. The cup was empty.

With a sigh, he got up from his work area in the library and went back into the kitchen for a refill. There was just enough in the drip maker to fill it. Without thinking, he rummaged around for the things to make another pot. Once the machine started percolating, he went back into the library.

The senior agent had spent most of the night going over what he already knew. Ziva had still not finished her investigation into Fr. Simeon ’s background. At least he had received permission to continue with the side investigation, which was quickly taking over as the dominant portion of the case.

Looking at his computer screen, he hesitated before sending off another email to the Pontiff. This particular one, though, was to explain to the younger man that he had been given permission to continue with the parachute investigation. As soon as it was gone he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee.

Hearing shuffling sounds in the kitchen, he got back up and headed back in that direction. He was surprised to find Tony looking through the cabinets for a clean coffee cup for his first cup of java.  “What time did you get back?” he asked with a bit of a smile on his face.

“Huh?” Tony whirled around while a confused look crossed his face. “I’ve been back for a long time.” He sniffed then reached for the coffee carafe and poured the dark drink into his cup. Rummaging around some more, he found the sugar and dumped some in. Just as he was about to take a sip his phone started ringing. “Who could be calling at this time?” the younger agent muttered as he looked at the screen on the small mobile phone.

“You know, it is rather early.”

Tony glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before turning his full attention back to his phone.  “DiNozzo,” he answered.

The voice that came out of the small speaker was loud enough for even Gibbs to hear from several feet away.  “Giulia, slow down; you know I don’t understand Italian,” his voice held exasperation. He stood still as he listened and then his whole demeanor changed as he disconnected the call. “Pope Barnabas had a heart attack.”

Not saying a word, both agents went into the communications room and switched on the television set. All of the cable network news stations were broadcast to the embassies and military bases around the world. On this particular one the late evening anchor was already reporting what Tony had revealed.

The anchor was seated behind a desk, and to the side there was a recent image of Barnabas. It was replaced by several video clips of him meeting with various dignitaries in the formal office. More video clips showed him in the Lateran Basilica, and when he gave the traditional blessings when he had been elected. The anchor finished with,  _ “A spokesman from within the Vatican states that barring any complications, Pope Barnabas should make a full recovery. When His Holiness is ready for travel he will be staying at his summer residence at Gandolfo until he has made a complete recovery.” _

With no new information available, Gibbs left Tony in the room and went back to his computer in the library. There was only one thing that was going through the senior agent ’s mind, and that he thought he might be partly to blame for what happened to the Pontiff.

TBC...

1 My God - Italian


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 11  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 11** _

  


Ziva sighed in frustration. Every lead on Fr. Simeon she managed to find and chase down ended up a dead-end. Whoever this Simeon was, was either very lucky, or very smart. The only thing she did find out about the archbishop was that he did not approve of some of the actions of the previous Pontiff. It looked as if it began when Fr. Patrick McKenna was placed in the Camerlengo ’s position. She maybe Jewish, but she did know it was highly unusual to have someone as young as the former Camerlengo placed in a position of being both an aide and confidante to the Pontiff.  _ Maybe not _ , she mused as she looked at the new Pope ’s background once again. Even she understood the importance of family. At that moment she understood, or will understand, what the Pontiff went through when he lost his adopted father. 

_ The Pope wanted him nearby. _ Ziva smiled as she looked at the information once more. The Camerlengo ’s position was normally given to a Cardinal, and Patrick McKenna was certainly not a Cardinal, let alone a bishop. She looked at her computer monitor while trying to figure out what to do next. Gibbs had mentioned the previous day that there were cameras set up everywhere within Vatican City. If she could tap into that, then she thought she might be able to follow Simeon’s movements leading up to his death, and before the explosion over the city.

“McGee,” she called as the agent in question came through the door, yawning. “Can you get into Vatican City’s CCTV?”

“What?” Tim stopped and looked at her, clearly confused. Her question was the last thing he expected to hear. “Oh,” he continued when he realized what she was wanting. “I’ve tried, but it’s a standalone system.”

“I see,” she muttered as she gathered her things. If it was a standalone system, then she needed to go to the Vatican to see the images.

“Where are you going?” McGee asked as she brushed past him on the way out the door.

“Trying to find out where Fr. Simeon was before he was killed,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Ziva,” McGee hurried after her. “You need to leave your gun here,” he said when he caught up with her in the hallway. “They have rules about that there.”

She rolled her eyes, but complied with the request by going back into the library and storing her weapon. It was only when she made it to the front of the Embassy did she make a call. A few minutes later a nondescript car pulled up. Getting in she said something in Hebrew while closing the car door.

Less than ten minutes later they pulled up to the side of Vatican City and she got out. Even though it was morning, the small city-state ’s doors were already open.

Getting into the city was easy enough, especially after she showed the guard, who was wearing renaissance style blue clothing, her NCIS ID. When she was an active Mossad Control Officer she never set foot within the small nation. There was no need. Mossad was …tolerant…with the Catholic Church. Most of their anger stemmed from Pope Pius XII silence during World War II. It was Pope John Paul II that helped ease the relations with The Vatican and Israel.

Ziva felt like a tourist as she looked at the different architecture around her. On closer inspection, she found several cameras placed in discreet locations, but set in such a way so that everything was in sight.

“Posso aiutare1?”

The Israeli turned around to see who addressed her.

There was a blond man standing behind her with narrow eyes.  “I know you.” Before she could answer he continued, “What is Mossad doing here?”

“For the past few years I have been an exchange officer working with NCIS,” Ziva answered while pulling out, once again, the identification the American organization had given her. “I’m an investigator now.”

The plain-clothed security officer looked over her ID while she continued,  “I’m also working with Agent Gibbs.” His head whipped up and his eyes narrowed once more.

“Come with me,” he handed the ID back then turned. As they moved deeper within the complex Ziva couldn’t help but look for the exits and windows. The buildings had solid construction compared to modern buildings. She knew there wouldn’t be a whole lot of ways to get out if trapped.

The building she entered looked harmless enough. Poking her head into one room she found that it was set up for surveillance.  _ This must be Vatican Security. _

“Commander,” someone came up and handed a piece of paper to her guide. He answered in what Ziva recognized as a Swiss dialect of German, then handed it back. The newcomer looked at her with a questioning look and he answered, “NCIS.”

When they were alone once more, he directed her into an office.  “What are you looking for?” he asked as he sat down. On the desk she read the nameplate,  _ Georg Chartrand. _

“Fr. Simeon. I am trying to backtrack his movements starting from when he was killed to before the Cardinals were kidnapped.” Ziva paused, “You have CCTV. I saw several cameras on the way here. I would like to see the images.”

Chartrand thought over her request before standing up. He indicated Ziva to follow him.

“Mossad has nothing to do with this,” she told him in German. “I have no complaints concerning the Catholic Church. But that’s not what I’m here for,” she finished in Italian.

For a moment Chartrand looked at her. Eventually he nodded and led her out of the office and into another room with several computers. He accessed the video system and searched for the images in question. After showing her the controls, he backed away and moved towards the door.  “If you need any help, there are officers just outside,” he indicated the door.

Ziva nodded while pulling out her notebook and pen.  “It’s going to be a long day,” she muttered as she started skimming through the video images. What did surprise her was how high-tech Vatican security was. It also made it a lot easier for her to search for the images that had Fr. Simeon in them. She started by watching the Pontiff wearing only a black cassock, move in front of the cameras and look around before opening the door and moving inside. He looked tired and worn. Shortly afterward Fr. Simeon entered the room. More to satisfy her curiosity, she accessed the images from the study.

What Ziva saw next was not what she was expecting. Not able to help herself, she continued watching with something akin to horror, and then winced. Immediately she stopped the video and went back to the earlier images. Using the rewind feature, she was able to backtrack the priest through the day and eventually to the previous day. It showed him arriving back at the Vatican and dressed not in clerical clothing.  _ Why would he be wearing that? _ She noted the date and time. Pushing further back she watched as he looked around before leaving.  “Very interesting.”

Not finding anything else of interest, she logged off the computer and gathered her things to head back to the Embassy. If anything, what she saw made her more curious about what happened. The ten minutes was more than enough time for her to gather her thoughts, especially with what she was going to tell Gibbs.

Arriving back, Ziva immediately went in search for the senior agent. Gibbs was in the communications room watching the news. Just as she was about to open her mouth he turned to look at her and asked,  “What did you find?”

“Fr. Simeon left the Vatican the day before in civilian clothing.” She looked at her notebook before continuing, “When he left he was looking around as if he was trying to make sure that no one saw him leave.”

“So he is Janus,” Gibbs muttered while taking another sip of coffee.

  


  


Fr. Paolo Cruz sighed as the phone rang again. Ever since the announcement, His Holiness ’s official email inbox quickly filled to overflowing with messages from around the world, all asking and praying for his health. Then there were the phone calls, especially from the media outlets wanting to find out information they could give to their viewers and listeners. He looked over to Fr. Seamus who had just replaced the receiver. They both knew there would be a lot of emails and calls, they just never expected to be completely swamped.

This wasn ’t the only thing he was worried about. Fr. Paolo had quickly started looking up to the Church’s new leader, even though he was young. It was something he was not ashamed of either. When Barnabas had been camerlengo many lay would come to him and ask for an explanation on what the Pope had said concerning his more obscure comments. Although many times he understood the erudite elder leader, he would stand just within earshot and listen to the Camerlengo’s patient explanations.

Paolo shook his head when he refreshed the Pontiff ’s email client again. The number off to the side let him know how many new messages there were. “Another five hundred in the last thirty minutes, Fr. Seamus. Maybe I should have chosen the phone.”

It sounded as if Fr. Seamus snorted.  “You were never good with people over the phone.”

Paolo looked at the screen and skimmed through the listing. One caught his attention. The person behind it obviously knew how to hide the sending email address, and there wasn ’t enough information in the header for any email savvy person to figure out where it was coming from. Like the others, it was addressed to the Pontiff, but the message was vastly different. Bothered by what it said, Paolo printed it out and placed it on top of the small stack he was going to bring to Barnabas for him to answer.

There was another ring, and then a sigh.  “This is Pope Barnabas’ official office, how may I help you?”

Gathering what he needed, Paolo rose from his desk and indicated where he was headed. Seamus nodded and waved a hand, telling him he was busy. He left the front office and moved into the Papal apartments. Even though he had not heard from the Pontiff about the messages, he still thought that it would be good for him to know that the prayers of the faithful were rising to the Throne like the incense that was used during mass. On his way he ran into Camerlengo Strauss.

The older Cardinal had a perturbed look on his face when he saw what Paolo was holding.  “Fr. Paolo, His Holiness does not need to be disturbed at this time.”

“But Your Eminence, I would think he would want to see some of the letters he’s been receiving.”

Strauss shook his head.  “It is your job to make sure that he’s not bothered by trivial things.” They both turned and moved towards the entrance of the apartments.

_ Trivial? _ Paolo saw this as Barnabas ’ way of staying connected with the faithful.

“You will write the answers and let him sign them when he’s strong enough,” Strauss finished when they reached the hall.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Paolo answered while bowing his head. When the Camerlengo had moved into the corridor he hung back within the apartments. At first he looked down the corridor and then back to where the medical suite was located. The Cardinal was right in that it was too soon after His Holiness’ heart attack, but there was this letter he knew the Pontiff needed to see.

Turning around he headed back to the medical suite ignoring the Camerlengo ’s words. It bothered him, but only to a point. Reaching the medical suite Paolo stuck his head through the door to see how the Pontiff was doing physically. The sound of the computers registering his heartbeat made almost a droning sound that was semi-mesmerizing at the same time. “Your Holiness?” he kept his voice low as he entered the room.

It troubled him greatly at how sluggish the Pontiff was reacting.  “Paolo?”

“Your Holiness, your inbox is overflowing with prayers from the faithful for your healing and get-well messages,” Paolo moved across the room then bowed and kissed Barnabas’ hand.

A smile crossed Barnabas ’ face before disappearing. “I don’t think that is why you’re here,” he breathed.

Paolo sat down in the available chair,  “Only partly. I have several letters that you might like to hear, along with one that has no name or indication from where it came from.” He paused, “It mentions the events that took place during the Conclave.”

“I see.” Barnabas closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t want to anger them any more than they already are, it would only make everything worse.” After a moment he continued, “I want to know what they said.”

_Patrick McKenna, you will receive requests from the scientific community to study the effects of the anti-matter explosion above Rome. The future of the Catholic Church depends on your answer._

_We will be watching you closely._

“Merde,” Barnabas muttered under his breath. “Tell them that they will know my answer soon enough.” He turned to look at Paolo and found a shocked look on his secretary’s face. It took a moment for him to realize what he said. The Pontiff closed his eyes and whispered something while bringing his hand up to his mouth and formed the cross with his thumb.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Paolo was finally able to answer. “I will leave you to your rest. Tomorrow I will show you the letters that you can answer.” He rose from his chair, trying to put out of his mind what just happened. The Pontiff is human and has human failings and weakness just like everyone else he kept running through his mind.

TBC...

1 Can I help you? - Italian


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 12  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 12** _

  


Johann Reeb stood on the top of one of the buildings in Rome near Vatican City. For a week he had been within the city taking measurements and examining the damage the explosion created that happened over the city. Just from the images alone he knew it had something to do with anti-matter. The only place he knew that was working with it was CERN, and that was more rumor than anything else.

He looked longingly over to the dome of St. Peter ’s Basilica. He already knew and understood that the Vatican would be off limits to any serious scientific discovery. And then there was the news that the new Pontiff had developed some sort of serious medical problems. “Better you than me,” he muttered as he lowered his binoculars.  _ I wouldn _ _ ’t be surprised if it was because of the explosion and ensuing radiation. _

One of his colleagues was behind him and talking to someone over the phone, but he couldn ’t quite tell what it was about. It didn’t bother him that much. All he knew was that he was never going to examen the aftereffects of the explosion in the Vatican. It also saddened him. There was so much that could be learned about how buildings of different age and construction dealt with an explosion of that magnitude.

Johann looked around at the clear blue skies above the Eternal City. From his vantage point he could just hear the sounds of the traffic down below.  “Josef, is everything in place?” he asked as he brought his binoculars to his eyes once again. At no answer he turned around and found his friend looking at his feet intently and nodding. Whatever it was, he considered the conversation to be more important than setting up their equipment.

“Josef?” he asked again, but paused when his colleague’s eyes went wide.

“Ja, ja….” The moment the younger man ended the phone call he stuffed it in his pocket and rushed over to where he was. “Johann! You will not believe what I just found out.”

“What?” Johann kept his voice calm. The young scientist before him was overly excitable, and this was just another example of it. In a few years, he mused, Josef would become more levelheaded.

“We….,” Josef gulped, “We’ve been invited into the Vatican.”

“What?” _This had to be some sick joke_.  “You know that I do not like jokes.”

“I’m not joking about this. We have,” he looked at his watch before continuing, “Three hours. The meeting will take place within Pope Barnabas’ formal office.”

The more Josef prattled on about the so-called meeting, the more Johann started wondering if it was real and not some bad practical joke from one of his colleagues.

“Johann, I would _never_ joke about something as big as this, ” Josef paused.

Once Johann nodded, the younger scientist went back over to their equipment and started packing it up.

“Wait. We do not know for certain that this is real or not.”

“There’s only one way to find out. And I don’t want any of the equipment to disappear on us.”

Realizing that he would never hear the end of it, Johann went over and started helping put the equipment back in their protective cases. To make sure nothing happened to it, they would put in a place for safekeeping. If the meeting was really going to happen, they needed to be able to retrieve everything in relatively short order. No telling how long this opening would last.

Close to the time of the meeting, the two scientists walked through the entrance into the Pope ’s official office. It was exactly as they had see on television when the media showed images from inside the office. The walls were painted in neutral colors and on one side, large windows, rose to the ceiling with curtains that had a weave fine enough to let the natural light in from the outside. At the far end of the oblong office was a desk. It was where the Pontiff signed official documents. They weren’t the only people in the office. The others that were there looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. What struck him was that there was no media.  _ Interesting. _

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Johann turned to see Vittoria Vetra entering the room. He knew she worked for CERN, and wasn ’t that surprised to see her considering who else was in the room. What did surprise him was the mantilla she wore. “Signora,” he said by way of greeting.

“I see you have been invited also,” she answered while looking around the room.

“Do you know why?” Johann asked as he turned to look back towards the empty desk.

Before she could answer, a door opened on the far wall behind the desk. Two older priests came through the door dressed in their traditional black cassocks with gold and red trim.

A murmur went through the gathered crowd as the two priests moved towards the people gathered.

“I assume all of you are wondering why you were called here. I am Clemente Cardinal Costello, and President of the College of Cardinals. With me is the Camerlengo, Wilhelm Cardinal Strauss.” Clemente took a deep breath before continuing, “His Holiness, Pope Barnabas has instructed me to tell you that you are being given permission to conduct measurements in and around Vatican City, including St. Peter’s Basilica.”

At his words a gasp came from the scientists gathered. What the Cardinal had said was the last thing any of them expected to hear.

“But at the same time, you will need to give us complete disclosure on what you find with your research. If you are unwilling, then you will not be allowed to come back and conduct your scientific inquiries.”

Another murmur went through the crowd, this time at the stipulations that the Pontiff had ordered. Johann debated on whether or not to stay. It was unusual to share information at any stage of research. Moreover, to give Vatican City disclosure was highly irregular.

“I do not believe you,” one of the more skeptical scientists commented.

The murmur grew in volume, as if the majority of the others gathered had decided to agree.

Almost, as if they were expecting the dissension, Clemente turned and nodded to the Camerlengo. Strauss sighed then turned and moved towards the back of the office and the door they had come through.

“Typical priests,” someone muttered from near Johann’s position. Vittoria sighed and shook her head.

The Camerlengo opened the door and said something to someone that was standing just beyond. Backing up, he retraced his steps and stopped beside Clemente. A few minutes later another priest came through with a laptop in hand. The younger priest was wearing the same type of black cassock, but his had fuchsia trim. He set the computer on the desk and plugged it into the available wall socket. Messing with whatever it was he nodded and then turned it around to face the people gathered.

What Johann and the others saw was not what they were expecting. On the screen was a picture of the Pope. Even at this distance he could tell the head of the Catholic Church was ill. He was propped up in bed and dressed in a white robe with his white hat on. IVs ran from his wrist and to a freestanding bag that held clear liquid. Other wires came from inside his robe and were connected to a set of monitors where they could see was registering his heartbeat.

_ I knew you would be skeptical. _ _ ” _ The Pope ’s tired sounding voice surprised everyone.

“He is using a webcam,” Johann muttered, clearly impressed.

“Shh….”

Johann glanced towards Vittoria. The CERN scientist was waving her hand discreetly. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the computer. Some of the other scientists had started moving closer to the desk. Not wanting to miss anything, he followed suit. To think the Pontiff was using a webcam was a surprise in itself.  _ It _ _ ’s probably why the two priests are uncomfortable. _

“ _This is why I’m making sure that you don’t misinterpret His Eminence Cardinal Costello’s words. If you are unwilling to disclose your findings, you will be dismissed.”_

“But we don’t just hand over our research while it’s happening,” one of the seemingly more belligerent scientists said in an accusatory tone.

Even on the webcam they could all see the Pope roll his eyes.  _ “And you state that the Church is close minded. I studied physics while at the university. If I had not gone into the priesthood I would be with and among you. Have you considered that I might be interested in your findings? If you leave now, we will not stop you.” _

It didn ’t surprise Johann at all seeing several scientists leave the room.  _ He is right in that we can be close minded. _ He stayed because he saw the full disclosure as a small price to pay for being able to study and take measurements within Vatican City. It was also a once in a lifetime opportunity, and one he hoped would happen again in the near future. When it looked like no one else was leaving, the rest came closer to the desk to see what the Pontiff had in mind.

“ _You that have remained,”_ Barnabas was growing tired, _“Need to know that while you are here, one member of the Swiss Guards will be assigned to you. He is not there to stop you, but to protect the treasures that these walls hold. In the restricted areas, you will still be given access, but there will be another Guard assigned to each of you.”_ He paused and took a deep breath, his strength was obviously lagging. _“Remember, Mass is held every day, and several services are held in the different chapels in the Basilica on Sunday. You also need to keep this in mind that at this moment you are not in Italy and we have our own laws.”_

  


  


It was a day since Ziva had tracked Fr. Simeon ’s travels in and out of the Vatican. Gibbs’ actions made her wonder which of the two investigations they were involved with had more precedence. Or maybe the two were merging together because they were connected by Parker’s disappearance. Whoever murdered the naval officer did a good job in getting rid of the evidence, and the car bomb destroyed anything that was left in the car. Truth be told, they weren’t fully sure how much Parker was in on the conspiracy, or if he was an innocent victim. 

Tony glanced up from his computer when Gibbs ’ phone rang. The ensuing conversation sounded very important. “Okay, I’ll send someone over Inspector.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll go,” Tony stood up so he could see Gibbs’ better.

“DiNozzo, go to Polizia headquarters. They’re going to interrogate the person who dropped Parker’s car off below the Passetto.”

The senior agent looked up only to find Tony still standing there. When he didn ’t move Gibbs’ continued with a picture in his hand, “Now go, DiNozzo.”

Tony shook himself out of whatever it was and answered while reaching for his things,  “Yes, Boss.” He came over and took the image then left the room.

Inspector d ’Ambrosio met him at the front entrance and quickly escorted him towards the area where they interrogated persons of interest. “What have you found out?” Tony asked as he pulled out his ID to show the inspector that was handling the questioning.

“He is a typical petty criminal. He mainly preys on unsuspecting tourists in and around Vatican City.”

“Is that all?”

“Witnesses state that he parked the car that exploded and walked away, nervously I might add.” Before Giovanni said anything else, another inspector entered the room and started speaking in Italian.

“Damn.” Tony rubbed his forehead.

“Is anything wrong agent?”

“I can’t understand Italian.” The NCIS agent turned to d’Ambrosio and gave the inspector a hard look, “I need to know what they’re saying,” he indicated the interrogation room, “as long as it’s part of the car bomb.”

“Of course.”

They watched the proceedings and eventually Giovanni nodded.  “It seems that someone came up to him and offered him a large sum of money if he parked the car under the Passetto.”

“Did he recognize who it was?”

“No.” Giovanni tapped the window gaining the attention of the two men in the interrogation room. Coming out, the inspector came to the viewing room and said something in Italian.

“See if he recognizes this man.” Tony pulled out a copy of a head shot of Fr. Simeon.

“Sì, signor.” The inspector went back into the interrogation room with the picture. He gave it to the criminal to see his reaction. Within moments, he nodded.

“Very interesting,” Tony muttered.

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 13  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 13** _

  


Gibbs closed his phone and shook his head. Simeon was more involved than he realized. It looked as if he was the main contact person within the Vatican. Things were also completely flipped around. He knew that he should have already gone through the priest ’s apartment, but it never happened. Gibbs was almost to the point of slapping the back of his own head like he normally did with DiNozzo to refocus the younger agent back on the case. 

Retrieving McGee, the two headed back over to the Vatican. Gibbs would have preferred to have his senior agent go instead, but Tony was still at Polizia headquarters finding out as much information as he could on the Parker end of the investigation. And not knowing where Fr. Simeon lived, Gibbs couldn ’t bring Ziva, for some places were set up similar to a men’s dorm. It was always easier to search when there were two sets of eyes.

“What are we looking for, Boss?” McGee asked as they set foot inside the smallish apartment.

“Anything unusual.” Gibbs looked around the main room. This particular one looked as if it were a suite with two rooms. This one was obviously lived in for there were personal items in various places.

As McGee was going through the desk in the living room, Gibbs went into the bedroom and started looking through the short chest. There wasn ’t much in way of clothing, mostly underclothes. It wasn’t unusual to find hidden compartments or envelopes taped to the inside of a chest of drawers.

His hunch was right.

On the underside of the bottom drawer was a manila envelope taped to the wood. Pulling it out, Gibbs turned it over and felt it to see if there was anything of value inside. When he finally opened it and dumped its contents out onto the bed he found several receipts and other various documents. As he started sifting through the small slips of paper, he found most were from Dublin, Ireland.  “McGee,” he called out as he unfolded a bank statement.

“Boss?” The junior agent stuck his head through the door.

Gibbs put everything back into the envelope.  “Here,” he handed it over as he brushed past the younger agent and then out into the corridor. There was a member of the Swiss Guards waiting patiently for them to finish before the apartment was locked up again. The senior agent had to keep reminding himself that he was not in Italy, and that things were done differently within the walls of the city-state.

McGee followed with the envelope in hand, letting the Guard lock the door.

When all was finished the three moved back down the corridor and into the lower levels of the building.

The elevator opened on the ground floor revealing several individuals with scientific recording instruments along with another member of the Swiss Guards.  “Entschuldigen 1 , ” one said as they all backed up and away from each other.

Nodding, Gibbs exited the elevator with McGee and their own guard behind them. Glancing back he noticed the younger agent looking back towards the closed elevator doors.  “McGee,” Gibbs tried to get his attention.

“Sorry, Boss,” McGee muttered as he turned his full attention back to the matter at hand.

Gibbs let the matter drop as he scanned the ornately decorated building lobby. He knew he had to speak with the Pontiff, even if he wasn ’t taking any visitors. Finding someone in a dark suit with eyes that were looking in all directions, he headed over to him. It was obvious to him that he was a member of Security. “I need to speak with the Pontiff.” Gibbs pulled out his ID and handed it over.

The officer looked taken aback for a moment then reached out to look at the official document.  “I do not know if His Holiness is taking visitors at this time,” he answered with an obvious German accent.

Gibbs was about to protest when the officer continued,  “But I will find out. Please wait here, Agent Gibbs.” He handed back the wallet and moved to an unobtrusive corner while putting his hand up to his ear. After a short discussion, he came back over, “Follow me.”

“Boss?”

“Well? Come on.” Gibbs had a hard time not rolling his eyes. There were some times that the younger agent showed confidence in what he was doing, and then there were times such as this when he asked permission for anything and everything. That was when it was the most frustrating for Gibbs.

“You mean we’re actually going to meet the Pope?” McGee asked in a whisper.

Gibbs didn ’t answer the question. What he did do was follow the security officer back towards the elevators. It was only when they reached the closed doors did Gibbs look around to make sure that McGee was following him. The junior agent was still in shock at who he was about to meet. He decided that after this whole mess was over with he was going to have to pull the younger agent to the side and remind him that in being an NCIS agent he should not be surprised at who he was going to meet over the course of his career.

The hallway on the fourth floor of the Apostolic Palace was the same as when Gibbs had been here when they first arrived. Doors were placed in regular intervals down the corridor. Most were closed. The marble floors had recently been polished leaving them shiny enough to reflect the paintings and images from the walls. One of the doors had two members of the Swiss Guards standing on either side.

They moved through the doorway and then through several different rooms. One particular door Gibbs looked through and found it to be a small chapel. Eventually they found themselves in what looked like a corner room, for there were two windows on either side of a corner and before that was a smallish desk. On the other side was a narrow bed that had not been used in the past day or so. It was at that point Gibbs realized that they were in Barnabas ’ personal rooms, his bedroom. On a side table were several framed photographs. One showed a young red-haired boy, maybe seven, wearing a suit, and standing in front of a stone wall with a wood door next to him. The second one was him kneeling before a priest who held his hands together. The last one was a formal picture of him when he was in the Italian Air Force.

“Wait here,” the guard, whom Gibbs never asked for his name, stepped through another door. Several men were speaking in Italian. One of them sounded familiar. Without thinking he headed towards the voice but was stopped when the guard came back out. Finally with a nod the two agents were allowed into the next room.

The space was not what Gibbs expected. It looked more like a hospital room. Barnabas was propped up in the bed and wearing a hospital gown. He was connected to both wires and tubes. The wires led to a heart monitor, while an IV line went from his right wrist to a clear plastic bag attached to a pole. The table that normal hospital beds had was pulled up in front of the Pontiff held a laptop.

The other man in the room who was taking notes wore a black cassock with fuchsia trim. Barnabas indicated the laptop and said something. The air between the two men tensed. It calmed when the Pontiff placed a hand on the man ’s arm and a word was spoken. When it looked as if the two were finished the attending priest gathered everything, including the laptop and bowed before exiting.

“Do you have anything for me, Agent?” Barnabas asked, he was clearly tired.

Gibbs answered by raising his hand then looking to McGee. It took a moment for the younger agent to figure out the meaning behind the action, but quickly handed over the envelope.

“Your Holiness, I’ve been given permission by the U.S. State Department to continue with the investigation you requested,” Gibbs started. “It looks like Fr. Simeon traveled to Ireland several months prior to the Conclave and your elevation.” He opened the envelope and pulled out the bank statements.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Barnabas shook his head.

“No,” Gibbs handed over the statements. “There’s nothing wrong with him traveling. However, if you look at the top you will see that he used your name when he was in Dublin. Now that I have a problem with.”

Barnabas looked over the statement while muttering to himself. The wires from his chest began recording a rise in the Pontiff ’s blood pressure. “Why…why would he want to do this?”

Gibbs handed over an Italian ID. It had Simeon ’s image but with the Pontiff’s Irish name. “It looks like he was setting up money transfers to an anonymous Swiss bank account.

The Pontiff sighed and winced as he rubbed his chest.

“Are you all right?” McGee blurted out.

For the first time Barnabas gave the younger agent a long look before answering,  “No, Agent. I used to run 10 kilometers a day, and now I cannot even walk across the room without getting exhausted.”

Gibbs glared at McGee before continuing,  “Your surveillance system showed Fr. Simeon leaving and returning the day before the murders. We believe he was going to speak with the kidnapper.”

“I see.”

Before he could say anything more a man in a white lab coat and carrying a folder walked into the room. After placing the folder on a table he went over and looked at the readings the monitor was giving for a moment. Apparently not satisfied with what he was seeing, he turned and picked up Barnabas ’ wrist and looked at his watch, obviously checking the Pontiff’s heart rate.

Releasing Barnabas ’ wrist he folded his arms. His voice held a chiding sound, “ Cos ì non va bene, dovete rimanere rilassato Sua Santità 2 . ” He then turned to look at Gibbs and McGee, “ E voi dovete andare 3 . ”

“I’m sorry Agents. You need to leave now,” Barnabas glanced to Alberto before turning his attention back to the Americans.

  
  


“I told you, you need to rest. No work.” Alberto shook his head.

Barnabas leaned his head back against the bed ’s headboard. With no work he was bored out of his mind. “There’s nothing to do.”

“Read, watch TV, _sleep_. You need your rest Your Holiness. Your heart needs to rest. ”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’. Just because there is no damage to your heart doesn’t mean that there are other problems.”

That was not what Barnabas was wanting to hear.  “What  _ other _ problems? ”

Alberto went over to the table and picked up the folder.  “I’ve mentioned on a regular basis about your elevated cholesterol levels. Plaque in your arteries was jarred loose and that’s what started your two week long heart attack.” He closed the folder and sat on the edge of the table. “You should be dead.”

“And?”

“I’ve done research. Your father died of a heart attack at thirty-five. _Thirty-five_. You need to take care of yourself and start taking cholesterol lowering medication if you want to have any sort of Pontificate. ”

Barnabas ’ blood pressure ticked up again. “He did?” He rubbed his chest again.

Alberto ’s voice softened. “Yes. Which brings me to my next point.”

Barnabas gave him a guarded look.  “Which is?”

“I want to check the arteries around your heart, and if need be, have stints placed in them. I do not want to put you through a by-pass operation. This way you will recover faster. But if you refuse, then I will have no choice.”

_ He died of a heart attack? _ Barnabas lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Your Holiness, I want you to die of old age, not a heart attack. And it can be prevented.”

TBC...

1 Excuse me - German

2 This is not good. You need to stay relaxed, Your Holiness.

3 And you need to leave.


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 14  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 14** _

  


Giulia Stellani closed her cell phone with a sigh. For the past hour she had been trying to reach Antonio. It was not at all like him to not return her calls.  “Typical American,” she muttered under her breath. Yet his silence was not like him, and she knew he would not leave without saying some sort of farewell, even if the case had been solved and he had to travel back to America.

The more she thought about it, the more she began to worry. It really wasn ’t like him to just leave. It was as if he disappeared. Giulia sifted sifted through the papers on her desk, looking for his supervisor’s name and number. Once she found it she realized she needed a real reason for calling him instead of just being worried. Her instincts were telling her otherwise.

Swallowing her pride, she dialed the number hoping to get some answers.

“ _Gibbs.”_

“Agent Gibbs, this is Inspector Giulia Stellani of the Polizia. I am looking for Agent DiNozzo.”

“ _He should be at your headquarters.”_

“He is not.” Giulia glanced over to the door before turning her attention back to her desk, and the pictures of her children. “And I cannot reach him on the telephone. I feel something is wrong.”

“ _Damn…Inspector do you know where the American Embassy is?”_ Gibbs tone turned harsh.

“Sì, signore,” she answered while nodding. At that point, she realized her gut instinct was right. “I will be there shortly.”

“ _Before you leave, I need to know if there is any new information concerning the one your people arrested.”_

“Sì, it is the reason why I wanted to speak with Antonio.”

“ _Bring it.”_ Gibbs disconnected the line not waiting for her response. _Antonio did warn me,_ Giulia mused as she gathered what she needed. Reaching into her pocket she felt a chain. Pulling it out, she kissed the Crucifix at the end of it then stuffed it back where it came from. He was a typical Italian, but when he found out about her past he became compassionate, which endeared him to her.

“Commandant,” Giulia stuck her head through her supervisor’s door, then stepped into his office. “I cannot reach Agent DiNozzo. I have information the Americans are needing.” She stepped deeper into the office and showed him the folder.

He grunted in acknowledgment and waved his hand in way of dismissal. Nodding, she turned and headed back out and into the corridor that led down to the garage.

The ten minute trip to the Embassy took longer than it felt. When Giulia finally reached it, she parked in the employees parking area. Technically she was on American soil, but with the reason why she was here, she knew it would fine. Security was what she expected, and in a short time she was inside the Embassy with her Polizia ID in hand.  “I need to speak with Agent Gibbs,” she told the first soldier she saw. “I am Inspector Stellani from the Polizia di Stato.”

The man in uniform looked over her ID for a moment before reaching for a receiver nearby. After a short conversation he nodded towards her.  “I will bring you to him.”

“Grazie.” Giulia shifted her things so she could replace her small wallet. In the middle of it, she decided that it would be better if she kept it out so the Americans would know who she was.

The building was set up more as an elegantly decorated home instead of an office, except for the surveillance cameras placed in strategic areas.  “If you will follow me, Inspector,” the solder moved deeper into the compound. Giulia eventually found herself in a library where several computers were set up. Two people, one older and the other younger, were looking at one of the monitors.

“Agent Gibbs, this is Inspector Stellani.”

The older of the two men looked up and then back down to the computer screen. Hearing nose from behind her, Giulia turned to find her guide leaving the room.

“What do you have for me, Inspector?” Gibbs folded his arms.

“Something interesting,” she answered. Giulia opened the folder and looked at the information. Her heart sank when she realized it was all in Italian, and she knew that if Antonio didn’t know the language, then the others would not know either. “The suspect that was picked up confessed to the murder of the American naval officer found floating in the Tiber.”

“And this?” Gibbs turned the monitor around. On the screen was an image of Antonio in some sort of confining area. Underneath it were two short words in English: _Back off._

Giulia ’s eyes widened in shock at the image. “Dio Mio,” she muttered. “No.”

“Boss, I’ve traced the email.” The younger agent hesitated before continuing, “it goes back to that computer.” He pointed to another computer setup in the room.

“And his phone, what about that?”

The younger agent went over to the map of the city.  “The signal disappears here.” He pointed to one of the many piazzas within the city. That one just happened to be close to Polizia headquarters.

“Damn,” Gibbs muttered as he whirled around and stormed out of the room.

“Where is he going?” Giulia looked around in confusion.

“I’m not sure, but I will find out.”

Giulia followed the agent out of the room and down the hall to another room. The American had headphones on with a microphone attached and talking to a man on the other side.

“I want to talk to Langdon. Is he still in Washington?” He paused and nodded at the answer from the dark skinned man on the screen. “I’ll wait.” Gibbs tore off the headset and started pacing the room until Langdon showed up on the screen.

With headset back in place Gibbs started,  “I have no time for questions. I want to know where the preferiti were held prisoner.”

Langdon ’s mouth opened and then closed in surprise. Even though Giulia couldn’t hear what he said, she could tell what he said by the way he moved his mouth.  _ Castel Sante _ _ ’Angelo. _

“Good.” Gibbs nodded while removing the headset and left a stunned looking man on the other side of the world. “McGee, and you, follow me,” he looked at the junior agent and Giulia on the way out of the room. Reaching the library he called, “Where’s Ziva?” 

“Here.”

Gibbs turned around and waited for her to approach.  “What happened?”

“DiNozzo’s been kidnapped. Get your things.”

Ziva ’s shocked look was quickly replaced by determination as she left the room. When they finally left the Embassy, Giulia pulled out her phone and called her supervisor letting him know of the sudden change of events and where she was headed. She also requested backup.

The structure they pulled up to was imposing in its own right. Built by the Roman Emperor Hadrian for his mausoleum it had taken on new roles over the centuries and the last was that of a refuge for the Pontiff during times of war. It was now in the process of being converted over into a museum. In the parking lot were several more cars while the men and women waiting for them were a mixture of inspectors in either plain clothes or uniforms like Stellani. They all understood what was about to take place. The kidnapping of any law enforcement officer was taken just as seriously in Rome as it was in America.

Members of the Swiss Guards, though not dressed in their formal uniforms opened the structure and let the officers inside.

“Um…Boss?”

“What is it McGee,” Gibbs answered in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t have a vest on.”

“None of us do. Be careful.” Not saying another word, Gibbs pulled out his weapon and eased around the corner. There was no telling if the place was booby-trapped or not.

Not knowing the layout of the castle ’s interior, the men and women stayed in a cluster at first then spread out as they slowly delved into the building. Deep inside, and apparently near a wall, they found themselves face to face with several small prison cells. Tony was in the last one, unconscious.

“Look to see if there are any keys,” Gibbs ordered as he neared the cell. There was no telling how long Tony had been there.

“Nothing here, Boss,” McGee called out from the far end of the room.

Giulia looked up and saw something odd.  _ What is that? _ It was right above where Gibbs was standing.

“Damn,” Gibbs muttered as he pulled out his weapon. Aiming it, he shot the lock off.

“No.” Giulia cried as she ran headlong into Gibbs and knocking him out of the way as an explosion and rocks came crashing down.

Dust rose from the center area and then finally settled.

“Boss?” McGee scrabbled over the debris towards where Giulia had pushed Gibbs. Ironically Tony was fine, he was still in the cell that had protected him. Gibbs sat up and coughed, covered in dust.

“Stellani.” The older agent lurched to his feet as several Italian inspectors piled into the room.

Knowing that Tony ’s recovery would be fairly easy, they all began working on the pile of rocks. “Stellani,” Gibbs grunted every time he moved one of the heaver boulders.

Everyone knew it was a race against time.  “ Chiama un'ambulanza 1 . ”

An unnamed man rushed from the room.

Several more rocks were removed and they found Giulia. Blood was everywhere. It was still coming out from her nose and ears, not a good sign. She coughed, spittle flecked with blood came out.  “Per favore,” she groaned.

Gibbs voice went from harsh to something completed different.  “An ambulance is on the way.” He looked to the others who shook their heads.

They cleared the rocks off her legs. One of the Italians reached down and picked her up. Those same legs had bends in places where they shouldn ’t have.

With two more carrying Tony out of the room, they all made it outside by the time the ambulance pulled up. One EMT jumped out and opened the back door to access the stretcher. Giulia was gently placed on it and strapped in then he and the EMT climbed into the back and they were gone. Tony was placed in one of the police cars.

“Go, I can get there by myself,” Ziva nodded to the car that was about to leave.

Gibbs nodded then piled into the car followed by McGee.

The EMTs burst through the emergency room doors and past a priest in a wheelchair and entered into the first empty room.

  


  


Barnabas sat there with two Swiss Guards on either side, along with his doctor. He was wearing trousers and a clerical shirt, for he didn ’t want to disrupt the hospital too much with his arrival.

A nurse rushed out of the room where the EMTs had gone,  “Where’s the chaplain? We need the chaplain,” then went back into the room.

Barnabas ’ hand slowly tightened around the arm of the wheelchair. The man in question was nowhere to be found. Even in his weakened state, he pushed himself to his feet and slowly began to limp towards the emergency room.

“Please, not now.” 

Barnabas looked to Alberto.  “I have to. I am still a priest.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case.

Entering the room he felt his heart sink.  _ No _ _ …. _ With resolve he didn ’t know he had, he pushed forward again and stood beside the stretcher Giulia was on. She was wheezing, while both blood and spit were coming out of her mouth and nose.

Opening the case, he pressed his thumb into the oil laden cloth then brought it to her forehead and made the sign of the cross.  “Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”

“Patrick.” It came out not even a whisper.

Barnabas leaned in closer. Giulia grasped one of his hands, not letting him complete the ritual.  “Please, take care of the children. I….” She tensed up and started choking and convulsing as her eyes rolled back into her head.

The doctors and nurses pushed him out the door and back into the corridor. He knew she was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. Closing his eyes, he leaned up against the wall. A hand squeezed his shoulder.

Barnabas turned to see who it was. It was his doctor.

“Come.”

The Pontiff allowed himself to be led back to his wheelchair and then deeper into the corridors of the hospital and to the floor where he would be prepped and have his surgery.

  


  


Thirty minutes later and with wires and tubes attached everywhere Barnabas couldn ’t take his mind off Giulia, and her dying words.  _ Children? _

“Your Holiness?”

He turned his head towards the door and the unknown voice.  “Yes?”

The man who took a step into the room was a priest. He was wearing trousers and a clerical shirt along with a matching coat. He came forward and knelt down and kissed his hand then stood up.  “I want to thank you for what you did. I would never had made it in time to give that poor soul last rites.”

“Are you the chaplain?”

“Yes, Father. I’m Fr. Pietro Benelli.” He smiled, “The doctors didn’t recognize you.”

“They were too busy with…her to pay any attention to me.” Barnabas gave him a sad smile. “All of life is precious in His sight.”

“Yes, Your Holiness.” The chaplain pulled out his own case. “And I know you will be heading into surgery shortly.”

“Of course.” Barnabas shifted his hands so that his palms faced upward for the anointing of the sick.

TBC...

1 Call an ambulance - Italian


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 15  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 15** _

The never ending sound of the heart monitor was the first thing that Barnabas became aware of.  _ Surgery. Stents? Giulia? Children? _ His mind flitted uncontrollably from one thing to another, all the while his body refused to move. When he was finally able to make some sort movement he realized that something was sticking down his throat. Without warning he coughed, trying to clear his throat, but it didn ’t work.

“Easy, Your Holiness,” a voice came from somewhere nearby. “The tube will be removed soon enough. Let me get the doctor.”

Barnabas coughed again, this time accompanied with a gag. More voices came from far away, but they were too muffled for him to understand what they were saying. Gathering his strength, he slowly opened his eyes. Even though the room was semi-dark, it was still too bright for him. A shadow crossed his blurry vision and a hand was placed on his forehead.

“Your Holiness, I will be removing the tube. When it is out, your throat will be sore, but that’s natural. The air tube has rubbed against your vocal cords. I do not want you to do any talking for the next twenty-four hours.”

The process went quickly and soon he was free of it. It felt wonderful, and soon he was asleep once more.

When Barnabas finally woke up he glanced around the room, and settled on the clock. It was early in the morning.

“I see you’re awake,” a nurse came into the room with a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you recovering so well after surgery.”

“How,” he tried to clear his throat then winced at the intense burning.

“Let me get you some water.” She left the room and returned with a small cup with a straw. Pressing a button on the side of the bed, his head came up and he was moved into more of a sitting position. He was too tired to lift a hand, so she brought the cup close enough for him to take a few swallows.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “How was the surgery?”

The nurse placed the cup on a side table, well within his reach.  “I should be telling you that it went well.” She gave him a smile. “I’ll let the doctor know that you’re awake.” And she left the room again.

With no one in the room it felt nice not having to deal with anyone and everyone coming in and disturbing him at all hours of the day. He was just drifting off to sleep when the door opened once again, this time Alberto stepped through.

“It is good to see you awake, Your Holiness.”

“It’s good to be alive,” Barnabas whispered.

“Yes, it is.”

“And?” Barnabas indicated his chest.

“Either you are a very lucky man, or you have the hand of God directing your path. Three of your main arteries were over 90 percent clogged. The plaque was removed and stents put in place. As soon as you’re back in the Vatican I will begin prescribing you….”

“Yes, I know. Cholesterol lowering medication. And it’s the Holy Madonna that’s directing my path.” Barnabas smiled.

“Get some more rest, Your Holiness. I’ll be back in a few hours. Then we can discuss when you will be released from Santa Maria.”

Barnabas nodded and settled back in the bed once again. Just the thought that he wouldn ’t be dealing with exhaustion on a regular basis already made him feel better.

 

With the sun rising over the horizon Barnabas was sitting up in the hospital bed and feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He looked at the bread and coffee that was brought to him for his breakfast. He wasn ’t that hungry, but he thought he could at least eat something.

Taking a piece of the twice baked bread, he dipped it into the coffee to soften it then took a small bite. His stomach tried to revolt at the sudden intake of food after twenty-four hours, but he managed to keep it down.

“It’s good to see you eating.”

Barnabas looked up and saw a late middle aged woman in scrubs leaning against the door frame.  “It is good to be alive, Signora Stellani.” He looked down, “I am sorry. There was nothing anyone could do.”

“You never called me ‘signora’ before. Why now?” she took a step into the room and then went over to the chair to sit down.

“Because of my actions.”

She gave him a knowing look.  “And then there’s that. We were angry with you for a very long time after the annulment.”

Barnabas looked up and then back down to his hands.  “You have every right to be angry.” He finally took another bite of his breakfast.

“You are the father of my grandchildren. I only want what’s best for them. They are orphans now.”

Barnabas ’ head shot up. This was the second time he heard ‘children.’ “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

He signed.  “There was only Laura.”

“Giulia was pregnant with Carlo when the annulment was finalized.”

_ Carlo. Two? _ Barnabas frowned then folded his arms against his chest. He could feel the bandage, and the spot where the surgeon made the incision.

“What is it?”

“Before we knew what…my daughter…would be, Giulia picked out Laura while I picked out Carlo.”

She gave him a smile.  “Penance has been paid. You are harder on yourself than I could ever be…Father.”

“Thank you…Beatrice. There are no words for me to express what you have done. All I can do is ask for forgiveness for what I did, for I did the same thing the Pharisees were guilty of.”

Her back straightened.  “What do you mean?”

“Instead of following the commandment of taking care of their elders, they dedicated everything to the Temple.”

Beatrice reached out a hand and set it on his arm.  “People are more forgiving than you realize. Thank you for the gift you’ve given me here, and also your gift of the children. If it wasn’t for you there would be no Laura, no Carlo.” She paused, “and Giulia loved you to the end even with everything you put her through.”

“I still wish I had known.”

“Do you think you would have made a different decision?”

Barnabas shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

Movement from the doorway caught his attention. His camerlengo was hovering just outside with a bag in hand.

“Beatrice,” Barnabas brought his attention back to the woman seated beside him. He grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You and the children are welcome at the Vatican at any time I am there.”

“Thank you.”

It was only when she had left the room did Wilhelm enter. Barnabas knew that the older Cardinal would never reveal what he heard. It was his choice to talk about it or not.  “I need confession, Father.”

Wilhelm nodded as he placed the bag on the table.  “Before the sacrament, this is your hook and yarn.”

Barnabas nodded as the Cardinal rose to his feet and went to the door. He said something to someone outside then closed the door. When he came back he sat down and made the sign of the cross,  “ In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti 1 . ”

Barnabas looked to the other wall as he began,  “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

  


  


It was shortly after lunch when Barnabas rose from his bed and put a robe on. If there was one thing, he wanted to make up for his failings with his own children. The ankle cast was a godsend for it stabilized him. At the same time he still needed a crutch of sorts.

He left the room and closed the door behind him. Now he had to find someone to tell him where he needed to go.

“May I help you?”

Barnabas turned to see a nurse coming around the corner.

Her eyes widened when she realized who he was, and crossed herself.  “Father? What are you doing out here?”

Barnabas looked at her name tag.  _ Vittoria.  _ With a gentle smile he answered,  “This may not be Bambino Gesù, but I do know there are children here that are sick and hurting.”

The nurse ’s eyes grew misty and a trembling smile crossed her face. “I will show you, Father.” She paused, “When I was young, Pope John Paul II came to see us.”

“At the Gemelli Hospital?”

“Yes, he was so kind. You are like him.”

Barnabas shook his head.  “No, I could never be like him.”

After a short elevator ride, Barnabas found himself in a large room that had several children sitting at the different tables. All were there for some reason or another. Most of them had a pole nearby with IV bags attached. The short trip and taken a lot out of him, but he wasn ’t exhausted like before. Now he just wanted to sit down.

“It’s the Pope,” one boy cried with a smile on his face. He had a cap on his head to hide the fact he lost his hair.

“Hello children.” Even tired, Barnabas felt his energy return in leaps and bounds. He moved deeper into the room and straight to a chair that he could sit in. Several that could walk followed him and soon one climbed into his lap once he was seated.

One girl who wore a neck brace asked,  “Why do you have a stick? Are you old? Old people use canes.”

Barnabas gave her a smile.  “You may think I’m old, but I’m not.”

The first boy, who was now in his lap also answered,  “No, it's because he’s a shepherd.”

Barnabas ’ smile widened. “Yes, you’re right.” His arm tightened around the child. “A shepherd uses a stick,” he indicated his crutch, “to lean on, and to keep order within the flock.”

“Did you fight with boys when you were little?”

“Oh yes, girls too.” Barnabas watched as the children laughed. _The best medicine._ He looked up and towards the door and found several nurses and med techs watching with smiles on their faces and in their eyes. _My work here is complete._ He felt his heart twitch as a memory of him kneeling before the Christ flitted before his eyes.

Vittoria stepped into the room.  “Father, it’s time for you to take your medication.”

“Why?” the boy in his lap asked.

“Because I’m sick like all of you. And the only way I can get better is to listen to my doctor and take the medication that he prescribes. God uses doctors and nurses to help heal the sick along with angels and miracles.”

Barnabas let the boy slide off his lap and then let Vittoria help him to his feet.  “Don’t worry children, I shall come to see you again after I’m released.” And with a wave of his hand he slowly limped out of the common room and back into the hall.

When he was back in his room, Vittoria smiled.  “Thank you for what you have done, Father.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

She handed him his medication and a cup.  “Will you come again?”

“Yes, of course,” he answered after swallowing the pill.

TBC...

1 In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - Latin


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 16  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 16** _

Hospitals were the same wherever you were in the world. Gibbs sat in a chair next to the bed that Tony occupied. The younger agent had a bandaged wrapped around his head. From what he was told, and what he could see Tony was in a coma. No telling how long he had been like this before they reached him. There were also scraps and bruises up and down his arms and other places on his body, almost as if he was hit by something. Throughout the rest of the day and into the night both McGee and Ziva had come and gone, while he remained.

It was only in the morning of the next day did Tony begin responding to outside stimuli.

Sounds from the corridor drifted into the room. Tony turned towards the door and opened his eyes.

Gibbs leaned in.  “Tony,” he kept his voice low, but loud enough for the younger agent to hear.

At first there was no response.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs put an order into his voice while tapping the top of the younger agent’s head, but kept the volume the same.

Eventually Tony turned towards him.  “Boss,” it came out as a breath.

That was the best thing Gibbs had heard in a long time. He smiled as he placed a hand on Tony ’s arm. “Get some rest.”

Instead of nodding, Tony answered with a smile of his own and closed his eyes.

Gibbs rose to his feet and left the room in search for either a nurse or a doctor. It was a good day, yet it saddened him that the Italian police had lost one of their own. He found a nurse and let her know that Tony was awake.

There was an answering smile and nod, then the nurse hurried off to find presumably a doctor. Gibbs went back to the room to wait for any news. Some time later the doctor came in and was able to wake Tony. His pupils were checked and a complaining, albeit weakly, Tony went back to sleep.

“Well, doctor?”

“He has a concussion. From his injuries it looks as if he were hit by a car. If so, he is lucky to be alive.”

Gibbs looked from Tony to the doctor and back to Tony again.  “Yes he is very lucky.”

Some time later, Gibbs rose to his feet and stretched. It had been a long twenty-four hours and he was hungry. As he went down to the cafeteria he couldn ’t help but feel relieved that Tony would recover. How well, it was yet to be seen. When he made it back to the room movement from the door caught his attention.

A priest stood just outside.  “Posso entrare?”

Gibbs shook his head.  “Sorry, but I don’t understand you.”

The priest nodded with a smile.  “May I come in?” he repeated in heavily accented English.

“Of course.” Gibbs got back to his feet and moved to the foot of the bed. “And you are?”

“Fr. Pietro Benelli. I am the chaplain here at Santa Maria.” He approached the bed while pulling out a strip of cloth. He draped it around his neck. The priest then pulled out a small case and opened it revealing a cotton ball.

Placing his thumb into the cotton, he then reached over and made the sign of the cross on Tony ’s forehead. “In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Attraverso questa sante unzione, il Signore nel suo amore e nella sua misericordia ti aiuti con la grazia dello Spirito Santo.”

The Italian was lost on Gibbs, but he did recognize the Latin part of what the priest said.  “What was that?” he asked when Benelli was finished.

“It is the Prayer for the Sick.” The priest slipped the case back into his pocket.

As the priest left, Gibbs stopped him.  “Yesterday afternoon there was a woman who came into the hospital.”

Benelli frowned.  “Yes, I know. I was not able to reach her in time. The Holy Father gave her last rites.”

Gibbs wasn ’t expecting that. “He’s here?”

“Sì. He had surgery yesterday.”

_ One dead, one in a coma, and one had surgery. What else could happen? _ Gibbs thanked the priest and went back to Tony ’s bedside.

  


  


It was three weeks since Barnabas was raised to the Papacy. Chartrand thought it had been long enough, or maybe he was postponing the inevitable for it would make everything more real. He had to clean out Richter ’s apartments. Few, beyond the Pontiff resided within the walls of the small state, the last remaining Papal State from a once vast empire that covered the middle section of Italy. Now, and because of his unique position he was one of those select few. When he first joined Vatican Security Italian was easy enough for him to learn, he heard it every day both within and around Vatican City. Latin was a bit more tricky.

Like with Barnabas ’ personal apartments, there were two guards standing outside Richter’s apartments. The place had not been touched. Once he was finished here, the guards would be dismissed and the place cleaned for its new resident, whomever that would be.

“Es ist Zeit1.”

One guard nodded. He pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Technically the place hadn ’t been touched, but the kitchen was cleaned out shortly after Richter’s death. There was a thin layer of dust on everything. With several members of security with him, they entered the apartment. From there they split and went into different directions. 

It felt odd going through the chest in the bedroom. Chartrand had to keep reminding himself that what he saw and touched were only things. Pope Barnabas mentioned in one of the private masses he was privileged to attend before his convalescence that these were just things, and that we should keep our mind on what is truly important before us, and that is not only the Christ, but the Virgin Mother.

Finding a suitcase, he placed it on the bed then began emptying out what was in the drawers. When that was finished he went to the armoir. There wasn ’t much, so it didn’t take all that long.

“Commander?”

“Chartrand left the bedroom and headed back into the living room. “Yes?”

One of the men with him handed him a slim book.  “I found this.”

“What is this?” Chartrand muttered as he went to sit down. He opened it and found handwriting, specifically the handwriting of his predecessor. It was as if a dead man was reaching out to him with written words. He skimmed through the first entry, for it looked to be a diary of sorts, then closed it and slipped it into a pocket. There would be time enough later to see what Richter had to say.

“Is this the only one you found?” Chartrand stood and went to the bookshelf that was now more than half empty.

“So far, sir. If we find another I will give it to you.”

“Good.”

The rest of the cleaning didn ’t take all that long, and soon the apartment was empty except for the furniture. That would remain for its next resident.

Later, and in the evening, Georg settled into his chair and opened the slim volume. Richter didn ’t record the events of every day, only things he felt were important.

The first entry that caught his attention was when the future Pope Barnabas was placed into the position of Camerlengo.

_Many within the Roman curia have grumbled not only to me, but to other Cardinals of this. Why should a mere child be placed in a position of authority? I thought the same thing at first, but I soon realized the wisdom of the Holy Father. Fr. Patrick is quick and smart. As long as he learns to take time out for himself, then everything will be fine._

It was only in the months leading up to the Holy Father ’s sudden death did the entries take a turn.

_ They came to me today in the person of Fr. Simeon. I don _ _ ’t know what I shall do. This group that worships science wishes to initiate a new age, one where science is everything, all powerful. But it is  _ _**not** _ _ everything. Pope Celestine was right on more than one occasion that we need something to hold on to other than what is material, and the Camerlengo has echoed his words on more than one occasion. _

_ I know who the Camerlengo is to the Holy Father. Most everyone in the curia knows, and I think that is one reason why they grumble so. I also know the Camerlengo _ _ ’s past. _

It was the last entry that was the most telling.

_ I cannot do this. Cardinals Ebner, Lamass _ _ é, Guidera, and Baggia have been kidnapped. I know there is a fifth, for I saw the brands. Langdon and Vetra do not understand the implications if they fail. I fear the worst for Fr. Patrick, yet I’m commanded to do what my contact requires of me. Father, give me strength to do what needs to be done to save the Church. _

Chartrand shook his head.  “Lord forgive him,” he muttered as he crossed himself. Even with it being late in the evening, he left his apartment and went straight to Santa Maria hospital. He had to inform His Holiness of this.

A member of security stopped him just inside the hospital.  “Sir, it is past visiting hours.”

Chartrand pulled out his ID.  “I am head of Vatican Security, I need to speak with His Holiness urgently.”

At first it looked as if he would be refused, but in the end, he wasn ’t. Soon they were walking down quiet corridors on the second floor of the hospital. One nurse was at the desk and looking at the information on the monitor in front of her. The lights in the halls had been dimmed to help the patients rest.

Two Swiss Guards stood outside one door. One nodded and opened the door to the room beyond. In the private room the television was on, letting off a bluish glow, it was a movie of some sort. Barnabas was sitting up in the bed and was working once again with hook and yarn.  “Your Holiness?”

Barnabas turned to look at him.  “What is it, Chartrand?”

Chartrand took a step into the room and held up the thin volume.  “This Your Holiness.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Commandant Richter’s diary.”

Barnabas ’ blood pressure ticked up as he set his work down in his lap. “Does it reveal anything?”

“Yes.” Chartrand came towards the bed and handed it over. “Fr. Simeon was the contact person within the Vatican. And Richter was an unwilling accomplice.

Barnabas flipped through the hand written pages.  “He always struck me as being more angry than anything else.”

“He wasn’t angry at you. He was scared because he knew about the brands, and that you would be the last on the list before complete destruction.”

Barnabas ’ eyes widened and his hand strayed over to his heart and the now permanent scar.

“If he was so worried about me, they why did he point a gun to my back?”

Chartrand shrugged.  “I cannot answer that, Father.”

TBC...

1 It’s time - German


	17. Chapter 17

Title: Irretitus  
Part: 17  
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?  
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, Rashida, Becky, Trekde, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.  
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a “what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn’t the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?”

  


_**Chapter 17** _

St. Peter ’s Square was immense. Ziva had been in the area one other time when she was an active Mossad Control Officer. Ever since she became an exchange officer embedded within NCIS did she rarely travel outside the United States. It was nice to be out of the States for once and back into Europe.

Ziva was in the square for more than just sightseeing. One of the scientists she spoke to had mentioned what happened before, and during the Conclave and how fast the events seemed to transpire. That conversation had piqued her curiosity on what she found was called the  “path of illumination.”

The more time she spent watching Gibbs the more she found the importance of investigating rather than just performing missions that the higher levels of Mossad required her to perform. She also found that solving those same crimes and taking someone off the street gave her something to be proud of.

The problem at this particular moment was that she was not content, but worried. Ziva hated to even think about it, but seeing Tony in the hospital bothered her more than she wanted to admit even to herself. At least he was awake now and complaining of a splitting headache. He was going to be all right, she kept telling herself. The mantra she repeated was the only thing that removed the images of him in the hospital out of her mind. Everything about the whole situation bothered her.

“Air,” Ziva muttered to herself as she forced herself to put the images off to the side. She looked around. “Where could it be?”

“I know what you are doing,” a voice just behind her spoke in Hebrew. “And I know what you are _Mossad Officer_ Ziva David. Do _not_ turn around. ”

“What do you want?” she asked, trying to hear anything that she could use against the unknown individual.

“I want you to tell Pope Barnabas that because of his actions our original plans have been altered. We will take into consideration what he has done.”

“I am not Catholic,” she protested.

“It doesn’t matter. You are very resourceful. You will find a way.” There was a hesitation before he continued, “And do not move. We have people looking at you from all directions. What will Agent DiNozzo think when he finds out that his lovely counterpart was gunned down in St. Peter’s Square?”

Ziva froze, unsure of what she should do especially surrounded by the innocent. Being pragmatic she remained there long after she felt it was safe for her to turn around. She couldn ’t take any chances. A few minutes later she turned completely around. It was obvious that there was no way for her to know who it was that talked to her. He could be on the other side of the square by now, or standing right next to her.

Realizing it was a hopeless cause, Ziva looked around one last time before continuing her search for the clue that Dr. Vetra told her about. When she finally found it, it was a simple plaque embedded into the pavement. She looked to where it was pointing.  “Of course,” she muttered. Direct in her line of sight was the Castel Sante’Angelo’s immense bulk that was across the Tiber River.

With there nothing much else to do, the Mossad Officer headed back to the American Embassy. Once inside she found Gibbs in the library by himself.  “Something interesting happened while I was in St. Peter’s Square,” she started, then explained what happened.

The senior agent nodded while staring at the monitor. From his body language alone, she knew he was angry.  “Anything I should know about?” Ziva asked as she went back to her own work area. It wasn’t unusual for him to be standoffish even at the best of times. And this was not the best of times with Tony still in the hospital.

Gibbs muttered something that sounded suspiciously Russian before he shook his head.  “Nothing you can fix.”

“I see,” Ziva answered with her own mutter as she looked at her own information once again. For a time she wondered if he was going to let her go to the Vatican once again to do more research, but decided to remain quiet.

Movement from out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked up as Gibbs moved towards the door.  “Come on, and leave your weapon.”

The exchange officer ’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but quickly recovered. Dumping her obvious weapon in her bag, she followed the senior agent from the room.

When they reached the Vatican, she looked at her watch before following Gibbs into the small city-state. This time she found herself inside an office of sorts, or study within the Apostolic Palace. They waited for several minutes before one of the doors opened and a priest appeared.

He looked at Ziva for a moment and frowned.  “His Holiness is in his personal office, and will see you shortly.”

“And?”

Gibbs leaned over and lowered his voice.  “Cover your head.”

“I understand,” she nodded and took her scarf and set it in place.

The priest turned and looked into the room beyond then turned his attention back to the two agents and nodded. The room they were escorted in was very informal. It took a moment for her to realize they were in the Pontiff ’s personal rooms. The Pope was sitting in a chair with two children, and an older woman with graying hair wearing a mantilla standing before him. With a smile he placed his hands on either head and said something so softly that only the children and woman could understand.

“Thank you Holy Father,” the woman said with a smile on her face.

He gave her a generous smile.  “No. Thank  _ you _ for what you have done. Like I said before, you are welcome here any time with the children. ” His hands slid down to their waists and he pulled them close. The girl accepted the embrace while the boy attempted to squirm out of it.

“Carlo, be respectful.”

“Yes, Nonna.”

Barnabas gave him a smile.  “Even Jesus, when he was young like you, was obedient to his mother.”

The woman nodded and then grasped the children ’s hands and led them out of the study.

Once they were alone the Pontiff turned his attention towards the NCIS agents.  “I know what you’re thinking, Agents.”

“How do you?”

Barnabas rose to his feet and limped over to his desk.  “Because I have to keep answering for my actions, it is a weakness that I will forever be connected with. A thorn in my side if you will.”

Ziva shook her head.  “I don’t understand.”

The Pontiff looked at Ziva.  “Agent, those are my children, and I left them alone with their mother when I entered seminary.” He gave them an ironic smile, “And I’ve already been read the riot act, so you can stand in line.”

“What is this ‘riot act’?”

“I have been reprimanded and sufficiently chastised for my actions.” He looked at the clock then reached for pen and paper to write a message. When he was finished, he looked directly to Ziva. “I also know what time it is _Bat Avraham._ _”_

He lifted the slip of paper in her direction and nodded.  “Here. This is where you can stay until sundown tomorrow.”

Ziva came forward and accepted the piece of paper. Although the message was written in Hebrew, it ’s what it said that brought her close to tears. “Before I leave,” she indicated the note, “I was told to tell you that their plans were altered because of your actions.”

“Thank you.” Barnabas gave her a smile while nodding his head.

After the Mossad Officer slipped out of the room Gibbs commented,  “You heard what she said, Your Holiness.” He shook his head, “that, and I was never given permission to talk to any of the pilots.”

“Richter made sure the parachute was there. He was an unwilling accomplice and was killed for his actions. This morning I celebrated a Mass for his soul, for he was very conflicted.”

“Have you always known about this?”

Barnabas gave Gibbs a long look.  “No agent. I only found out the night before I was released from Santa Maria. It was a revelation from an unwilling accomplice.”

“I have an agent still in the hospital because of this. This is a conspiracy, and Fr. Simeon was just one of many.”

Barnabas rubbed the area directly above his heart.  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

There was a knock and the door opened. A priest stepped inside with a folder in hand. He came across the room and handed it to the Pontiff. Giving a quick bow, he left the room, leaving the two alone once more.

“Are you going to be all right?”

A surprised look crossed Barnabas ’ face. “I should be asking you of that. Faith isn’t what gets us through difficult times, it’s what helps us in accepting the difficult times.” He sighed, “When Carlo and Laura are old enough I need to make sure they get their hearts examined. I don’t want them to die a premature death like my father did, and how I almost did.”

He seemed to gather himself for a moment before continuing,  “You know I read your file. If there is anything you need to talk about you know how to reach me.”

_Finis_


End file.
